Dances With Wolves
↳ 24 / 25
It’s just like any other year, apart from the wolves running about.
Stiles comes downstairs Christmas Eve morning to find his dad and Derek sitting by the kitchen table. He freezes in the doorway, cold panic washing over him in a sharp heartbeat because this surely means trouble. Derek cranes his neck to look at him over his shoulder before the sheriff even notices he’s there. It’s his scent, Stiles realizes, and maybe also the sound of his racing heart.
"What’s going on?" He asks warily despite his mind going: this is it, the gun will be drawn and shots fired.
"Breakfast," his dad replies, gesturing to the table while giving him a look as if he’s being silly.
That doesn’t really help much. Derek offers him a small smile, and at least that’s comforting enough for Stiles to let out the breath he’s been holding and enter the room. He looks curiously between the two, but both of them act like nothing is off. It is though, because Derek Hale is having breakfast in the sheriff’s kitchen. Not that Stiles is complaining about his father and boyfriend being in the same room without both looking like they wish to bolt, but there’s something seriously odd about that.
He heads for his usual seat, which is the chair next to Derek’s, and he can’t help but slide his fingertips over Derek’s shoulders as he passes by. It’s meant to be comforting, even if he doesn’t seem to need it as much as yesterday, and Stiles catches the twitch in the corner of Derek’s mouth as he sits down.
"I just invited Derek to join us for dinner this evening," his father explains.
"Really?" Stiles asks, because that sounds just a little too good to be true. "Christmas dinner?"
"Unless you mind?" His dad wonders, raising his eyebrows.
"No," Stiles hurries to say, looking at Derek who looks worried for a second. "No," he repeats, sneaking one hand under the table to grab Derek’s while meeting his gaze firmly. "That’s— I’d love that."
Derek smiles, looking relived as if he hadn’t been sure Stiles would approve.
"Great," the sheriff agrees gleefully. "Derek, could you pass me the bread?"
Stiles feels Derek’s fingers twitch as if he’s about to let go of his hand to oblige, but then he reaches for the bread with his other hand instead, only squeezing Stiles’ hand even tighter.
"Did he call you? Does he even have your number? Did you come to see me? How did this even happen?”
Derek just chuckles, shaking his head at all his suggestions. He stops when they reach the front door, and sighs as he properly turns to Stiles.
"If I’d come for you, I would’ve come through your window," he reminds him, cupping one side of Stiles’ face.
That just confuses Stiles further, and if it had been a more serious matter he probably would’ve slapped Derek’s hand away and demand a straight answer, but it isn’t. Everything is fine after all, so he actually manages to let it go; just rolls his eyes softly and sighs while leaning into Derek’s touch. He puts his own hand on top of Derek’s, feeling his hard knuckles against his palm. Derek’s smile grows wider, and for a second Stiles thinks he’ll be perfectly happy watching this man smile for the rest of his life.
"I’m gonna ask dad to let you spend the night," Stiles mumbles.
Derek hums, brushing his thumb to the corner of Stiles’ mouth. His pupils are blown under his half-closed eyelids, and Stiles feels a warmth spread inside his chest just by seeing how he’s affecting Derek. It’s still mind-blowing, and he doubts it’ll ever stop to be. Despite the window in his bedroom still being able to open, they haven’t spent the night together since after the dance. Stiles has offered, of course, but Derek has insisted that they shouldn’t sneak behind the sheriff’s back like that. Thankfully it doesn’t seem like Stiles’ nightmares care whether they’re actually together during the night or not because they haven’t returned for over a week now.
"You do that," Derek agrees in a murmur, lifting his eyes from Stiles’ mouth to meet his gaze.
Stiles is the one stepping forward to claim Derek’s lips in a longing kiss, hard enough for their teeth to clash. It’s clear that Stiles isn’t the only one who’s wanted to do this since he first entered the kitchen. One day they should probably try and kiss in front of his dad, because it’s bound to happen sooner or later anyway, but not today. At least not this morning, and Stiles figures that’s okay. They’ve got time.
It’s with a soft groan Derek pulls away, one that indicates he doesn’t want to but still has to. Stiles doesn’t chase him, just rests his forehead on Derek’s for a moment before stepping back. Derek’s lips are bruised, and Stiles’ can’t hold back a proud smile upon seeing it.
"See you later then," Derek sighs, thumb brushing over Stiles’ cheek one last time before actually letting him go to leave.
Stiles can’t say when or how exactly it became a tradition, but Melissa and Scott have joined them on Christmas Eve every year for several years now. He’s not even sure they got an invitation; they just show up later that afternoon.
Isaac is with them, of course, but this time he doesn’t look as unsure whether he’s welcomed or not. Still, just to make sure he’s got the memo, Stiles gives him a big hug right after he’s done the same to Scott. Isaac doesn’t seem to mind, cheeks going as red as Scott’s ridiculous Santa sweater for a brief second.
Derek arrives looking far more calm than he’s ever looked by their front door. He’s wearing one of his loose sweaters, and Stiles decides it’s sort of become his new favorite thing. While Derek still is walking sex that Stiles wants to jump about 85% of the time, he also wants to nuzzle into the soft fabric and just feel cooped up in Derek’s heat.
He probably makes the embrace Derek greets him with last a little longer than necessary, but Derek isn’t complaining. In fact; he smiles against Stiles’ cheek and only looks amused once the arms around him finally let him go to greet the others.
Melissa wasn’t lying when saying Stiles eats like a wolf, because he does.
Obviously Stiles and his dad didn’t do it all; the McCalls contributed nearly half of it. It’s delicious, and Stiles can’t be bothered by the two adults shaking their heads at him. It’s not like it’s news to them: he gets stuffed every year.
"Jesus, leave some for the rest of us, would ya?" Scott complains, but he’s grinning.
Stiles makes a face at him, not pausing from chewing on his sausages.
"You’re gross," Isaac comments, then throwing Derek a glance. "I can’t believe you’re kissing that."
"Rude," Stiles says once he’s swallowed. "I’m perfectly civilized."
"Well, enough,” Derek says with a smirk, and everyone around the table chuckles.
Stiles tries to glare at him, but it’s impossible when his stupid face is so bright and beautiful.
A knock on the door has everyone pause and look up.(causes everyone to pause and look up.)
"I’ll get it," Stiles volunteers, hand slipping off Derek’s knee under the table as he stands up.
Derek hums lowly, which could’ve been just a simple acknowledgement to his announcement, but Stiles is pretty sure it’s the sound of disappointment. He can’t stop smiling to himself all the way through the hallway to the front door.
He’s a little surprised when opening it to find Allison and Chris Argent standing on their porch.
"Who is it?" His dad calls from the kitchen.
Stiles hesitates. “Santa Claus.”
Allison chuckles, and Christ reaches up to rub his chin with an amused look.
"I think I’ll have to grow some facial hair before passing for Santa,” he remarks.
The next second Derek is there, warm and solid by Stiles’ side. Chris’ smile falters, and Stiles feels himself swallow hard down his throat. Oh boy. Because despite the two of them fighting alongside each other on more than one occasion during the past year, the relationship between Derek and Chris Argent is still a complicated one, to say the least. Stiles is pretty sure it doesn’t have to be though. They may be natural enemies because of what they are, but when it comes down to it; they are both just remains of two broken families they’re still desperately trying to protect. The black sheep are to blame, and that’s neither of them.
"Derek," Chris greets, but Derek doesn’t respond. The hunter lifts his hands in a peaceful manner. "I’m not wearing my gun," he informs, "and you’ve still got your claws, so you’ve got me at a disadvantage.” Derek’s arm flexes, so little it probably goes unnoticed by everyone but Stiles who’s pressed up against his side, and for a moment Stiles thinks he’s going to draw his claws out. “But it’s Christmas,” Chris continues calmly, “so I’d be happy not to see them anywhere near me anytime soon.”
That seems to make Derek relax a little, but he still doesn’t look like he’s going to move anytime soon. Stiles hears steps approaching as more people join them by the door. He doesn’t look over his shoulder to see who exactly, but judging by Allison’s small smile Scott or Isaac is probably one of them.
"I’m not here for you, Derek," Chris assures. "Or your mate."
Stiles’ jaw drops. “Your—”
"You just knocked on his door," Derek points out sharply.
"We’re not here to stay," Allison cuts in, drawing everyone’s attention to her rather than her father. She waves with the bag in her hand. "I’m just dropping by to give Scott and Isaac their presents."
"Bad idea," Melissa says somewhere behind Stiles. "You know they’ll open them before tomorrow."
"So little faith," Scott mutters.
The tension eases up a little at that, some of them chuckling in an attempt to lighten up the mood. Stiles glances over to Derek who’s still got his eyes on Chris, but doesn’t look like he’s about to attack anymore. Gently Stiles pulls at his arm, and Derek immediately takes his eyes off the hunter to meet his gaze. His face goes soft the second their eyes lock, and Stiles manage to drag him away from the door and back into the house while Scott and Isaac accepts the gifts from their girlfriend.
Stiles throws a glance over his shoulder and catches Chris giving him a small nod before he looks away, heart throbbing at the man’s choice of words.
About one hour later, when they’ve finished dinner and Melissa has shooed them out of the kitchen, the good mood is back. The Argents are gone, leaving two presents behind that Scott and Isaac have added to the pile under the tree. Isaac offers to help with the dishes, but Melissa refuses and orders him to go play video games in the living room. It’s something Scott and Stiles do every year, and they’re more than happy to introduce more people to the tradition of Mario Cart.
Derek slides up behind Stiles in the middle of one of his races with Isaac, wrapping one arm around him and leans in to rest his chin on his shoulder. Stiles’ lips pull up in a smirk but he doesn’t lose control of his car. Well, not until a few moments later. Isaac cheers in delight.
"You did that on purpose," Derek whispers into his ear, and the only reason Isaac doesn’t hear him is because he’s too busy high-fiving Scott.
Stiles shrugs. Maybe he did. Beginner’s luck is an awesome feeling, after all.
Derek huffs, nosing Stiles’ cheek for a second before scraping his stubble against it. His hand comes to rest on Stiles’ chest, right above his heart, which starts throbbing against his palm. Stiles sighs, lowering the controller on his thigh as Scott seems to be coaching Isaac while pointing at the different buttons on the controller. Usually Stiles would be bouncing in his seat by now, impatient and eager to start the next race, but now he doesn’t mind waiting.
He sinks back into the couch and Derek’s warmth, tilting his head back just a little to rest the back of his head on Derek’s shoulder. Derek’s heart is pounding against his shoulder blades, and Stiles doubt he’ll ever get used to the fact that he’s able to speed up the werewolf’s heartbeat this way.
Stiles’ breath catches when Derek suddenly reaches down with his other hand to slide on his thigh, because they still haven’t done much of those kind of touches. It’s not that he’s upset Derek has made them take things slow – he understands why it’s important to him – but naturally his heart jolts in hopeful excitement at this.
"Derek, we’re not exactly alone," Stiles reminds him half-heartedly.
"Not yet," Derek murmurs into the corner of his mouth. When Stiles frowns in question, he only huffs, pulling back enough for their eyes to meet properly as Stiles cranes his neck. "I kind of asked your dad if you could spend the night at my place," he confesses.
Stiles stares. “That’s why you were here this morning,” he realizes.
Derek nods. “I just— I wanna be with you tonight,” he goes on, voice so deep it’s giving Stiles goose-bumps. “But not without your dad’s consent.” Then he gets something in his eyes. “But we don’t have to—”
"Yes," Stiles cuts him off, not wanting Derek to doubt it for a second that this is what he wants.
Derek lets out a heavy puff of air, as if he’d been holding his breath. “Okay,” he says.
"Okay," Stiles agrees, dropping the controller on the couch. "Now?"
"Now," Derek confirms, and the want in his voice nearly makes Stiles’ knees give in as he stands.
They’re out of the car for approximately three seconds when it starts. It’s the quick brush of Stiles’ hand against the small of Derek’s back as they hike up the steps to the entrance. He lets out a huff of surprised air as electricity arcs across his nerves.
"What the hell was my dad thinking agreeing to this?" He asks, to no one in particular.
Derek pulls out his key and unlocks the door, extremely aware of the fact that Stiles’ hand is still pressed warmly into the small of his back, rubbing a small, absentminded circle into the skin.
"I don’t know," he breathes, pulling open the door. "You wanna go back and ask him?"
Stiles snorts as Derek opens the door, already out of breath. “Do you?”
"I’m good," he answers, as Stiles slips his hand up underneath the hem of his shirt. His palm is on fire, and Derek can feel the frantic beat of his heart through the contact. He chuckles. "You nervous or something?" He asks, as they head for the freight elevator.
"Not as much as I should be, considering," Stiles replies as Derek presses the button.
"Considering what?" Derek cocks an intrigued eyebrow, admiring the way Stiles’ face goes instantly pink all the way up to his ears as he’s caught off-guard. It’s completely adorable.
"Considering, you know, what we’re going to be doing once we— Uh, get, you know, upstairs."
"Have high expectations, do we?" Derek asks, pulling Stiles close. He feels the slight drag of his hand as it eases over to curl around the notch of his hip. All the nerves on that side of his body go from ‘off’ to ‘high’ in a fraction of a second.
"You know what I mean," Stiles chuckles, leaning into Derek as the elevator thrums down toward them from one of the upper floors. "I’m gonna be a little nervous," he shrugs, kicking at the floor. "Because, you know… It’s you."
Derek smiles to himself. He can’t help it. Because there’s something in Stiles’ voice that makes him sound like he’s everything. Everything he ever wanted and was afraid to ask for. It’s too much.
Stiles sighs. “Enh, you’ve done this before, though. You probably don’t understand.”
Derek laughs. It’s small and broken, and Derek wonders when that started.
"I do though," he shrugs, pulling Stiles closer.
Stiles flicks him a look, and Derek pointedly avoids it. He’s probably more nervous than Stiles could ever be, really. He can hear his own heartbeat in his ears, even as Stiles takes a chance and leans in, gently slotting their lips together.
And it’s different this time. Derek is very conscious that it’s going somewhere. His heart ramps up its sprinting. Stiles sort of turns to step into him, crowding their feet together and pressing their hips deep into each other. There’s a pull at Derek’s sides where Stiles’ hands are resting, and he has no choice but to sink deeper into the kiss as his senses start to black everything out that isn’t Stiles’ scent, his touch, the taste of his lips, or the sound of his heart.
He doesn’t even notice when the elevator comes to noisy stop and the gate eases open, and barely even registers when Stiles pulls him into it and pushes him up against the wall. He does notice when Stiles’ fingers begin to dig into his skin, and the breath that filters across his tongue starts to come out in rough, uneven puffs.
They barely make it into the apartment before the clothes start coming off. They stumble toward the bed, locked together at the lips as they make their way across the loft, trodding on each other’s feet as they go. When they finally get to the bed, Derek finds himself turned around and pushed down onto the mattress, taken by the fact that it’s Stiles who’s doing it, standing in front of him, shirt off, pants unbuttoned and slipped low over his hips, almost unfinished, eyes raking down Derek’s body in a way that sends shivers down his spine. He smells like arousal, and it makes Derek want.
He kneels, wraps fists around the top of Derek’s jeans, and yanks. It’s rough, but hesitant. Slow, almost. Like he wants it, but doesn’t want to do it wrong. As Derek’s cock is about to slip free of his pants, he wraps a gentle hand around Stiles’ wrist.
"What’re you doing?" He asks.
Stiles kind of freezes. His heart skips a beat.
"Uh, there’s something called Christmas blowjobs."
Of course he went right to sarcasm. He was that nervous. Derek smiles to himself.
"How would you know?" He quickly snarks back, and Stiles sighs. In the dim light of the bedroom, Derek can barely make out the color that’s crept back into his cheeks.
"Ouch," Stiles says. "S’a low blow, Derek. Like under-the-belt low."
Derek suddenly feels like an ass. He backpedals.
"No, I just— I wasn’t trying to—" He sighs softly. "I just don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with."
"I’ll be fine," Stiles intones, a note of confidence in his voice that Derek doesn’t expect. "At least, I hope I will be. I mean, I better get used to having your dick in my mouth before having it in my ass, right?”
Derek lets his hands trail up Stiles’ arms, pads of his thumbs tracing the long cords of muscle thrown into sharp relief by the shadowy light of the room.
"Actually," he ventures, "That’s not really what I had in mind for… you know, this."
Stiles’ tone slips seamlessly back into snark.
"Wait, you didn’t have penetration in mind when coming here tonight?"
"Of course I did," Derek answers, "Just not by me.” He watches Stiles freeze and hears the loud skip of his heartbeat. “That is, if you’re okay with it,” he adds. “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to.”
Stiles swallows, but Derek can tell it’s not that he’s against the suggestion. Quite the opposite: he’s pretty sure he can sense Stiles’ arousal just getting even more intense.
"Do you really think that’s a good idea?" Stiles eventually asks, sounding hesitant. "With my lack of… experience and all?"
Derek gives him a soft and reassuring smile. “We’ll start slow,” he says. “We’ll talk through it. We’ll be fine.” He chooses his next words with care. “I trust you—”
He barely finishes his thought before Stiles attacks his mouth again, gripping his jaw with both hands, trying desperately to suck whatever life Derek had left from his lips. Before he knows it, Stiles is back to removing his pants, this time with a tad more confidence. It’s still slow, but not hesitant. The drag of his knuckles and the fabric of his jeans down Derek’s thighs makes it seem like Stiles means to do that. Like he’s trying to savor the moment. The moment when all of Derek is exposed to him. Derek’s heart skips several beats. He’s ready, but nervous. Stiles makes a quiet, throaty little sound as Derek’s cock sort of bounces free. And he’s gone.
And then, well, that’s it. Stiles’ mouth is on his cock, and Derek can’t focus on any single one thought. His mind is too busy following the swirl of Stiles’ tongue, the almost bruising grip he’s got on his hips as he eases his perfect mouth down over the head of it, and it’s got Derek’s muscles going slack as he leans back onto his elbows, letting his head fall back against the bed as Stiles nearly swallows him whole. It’s a feeling unlike any other, and the tug of Stiles’ lips, the brush of his tongue. It’s got Derek twisting his fingers into the sheets because it’s Stiles.
Within seconds, Derek’s arching his back, and losing more and more of himself to the obscenely perfect sounds Stiles is making around his cock. He sits up, and his fingers go from the sheets to Stiles’ hair, to his jaw, and back again. He’s close to the edge, and all he wants, hell all he needs, is to come, with Stiles’ lips wrapped securely around his cock, making those wonderful, perfect, needy sounds like this is all he ever wanted and more. Derek has to say his name over and over again to keep from slipping over the edge, to keep him grounded, anchored to himself, and eventually, as Stiles sinks into a rhythm, it’s less of a litany and more of a prayer, a constant, repeated plea for Stiles to take everything he has, to tear him apart and consume him, swallow him whole and never, ever stop.
"Stiles," he groans, his throat dry, "Fuck, Stiles— Stiles, you— Stop."
The deep slurping sound Stiles makes as his mouth pulls free of Derek’s cock is almost enough to make him come right there, untouched. He has to hold it back when Stiles takes a breath, lips wet and swollen, small string of saliva hanging between them and the crown of his cock.
"Why?" He asks, suddenly confused. "Did I— Was I that bad?"
Derek lets out a pent-up breath and shakes his head.
"Absolutely not. ‘Was good. Very good. Fucking perfect, actually. I just— I need—"
Stiles slips his hand around the base of Derek’s cock and slid it up, thumb dabbing at a small pool of pre-come forming at the tip.
"What? What do you need?" He asks, voice utterly ruined.
"I need you to fuck me," Derek sighs, before leaning down to press his lips into Stiles’ mouth. He can taste himself on his tongue, and it was all he could do not to sink his teeth in right then and there.
As they kiss, Derek eases his hands down past the waist of Stiles’ jeans, letting his hands follow the curve of his ass until he was gripping it securely in his palms. Stiles moans. Derek worries at his bottom lip and lies back, pulling Stiles down on top of him, feeling the mattress pull away from his shoulders where the human posts up his weight, arms hemming Derek in as they kiss. He tries to finish pulling Stiles’ pants down over his thighs, grunting awkwardly as he tries to do it without releasing the boy’s lips. Stiles pulls back to help him out, a slight smile curved into his mouth. He pulls back completely to kick off his shoes and socks and slip the pants off over his ankles, and Derek drinks him in, watching as random cords of muscle stand out as he flicks the jeans off and tosses them aside, before climbing back on top of him. He leans in for another kiss, and surprises Derek by pulling away after a second, pressing his soft, parted lips down over the edge of his jaw to the sensitive skin underneath, tracking his vein down the side of his neck.
Derek laces his fingers into Stiles’ hair and tugs, high, undignified sounds slipping up his throat as Stiles explores his body. After a few seconds of him sucking bruises into the dip just behind Derek’s collarbone, he can’t take it any longer.
"Lube," Derek breathes, nodding toward the nightstand. He needs it. Stiles flicks him a questioning look.
"Wha—?" He asks, pulling his lips from Derek’s skin.
"The lube," Derek repeats. "It’s in the nightstand, and condoms too."
Stiles pulls himself away to reach for them.
"Do werewolves actually need condoms?" He asks curiously.
"Well, no, not really," he admits. "I just didn’t think it’d be a good idea to introduce you to unsafe sex," he points out, reaching up to take the small bottle from Stiles’ hand.
"What am I—" Stiles sort of hovers, unsure of where to go.
Derek kind of chuckles, because it’s probably the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. But he really didn’t have any idea either.
"Just… come back," Derek pleads. "I need to touch you."
Stiles obeys, as Derek pulls him by his hips in between his legs and flicks open the cap on the lube.
"Have— Have you ever done this before?" Stiles asks, as Derek draws a small line up two fingers with the lube and reaches down to slick up Stiles’ cock. His whole body shudders and he lets out a moan. Derek growls. His cock twitches.
"No, I haven’t," he finally answers, stroking the lube on to Stiles’ cock.
"Are you sure that—" His question is cut off when Derek’s hand slides back up under the head of his cock, and he has to lean forward, bracing himself on one arm. "Are you sure that this is— holyshit that feels good.” Derek grins to himself. Seeing Stiles unravel is making him yearn. He can feel a dab of moisture as pre-come begins to leak out of his upturned cock onto his abdomen. “I just— Aren’t you nervous?”
"Of course I am," Derek replies.
Stiles pulls back, settling onto his knees. In the half-light, he’s absolutely glorious. Everything he owns was thrown into sharp relief, and Derek’s nerves surge with a whole new sensation that cancels out any nervousness.
"Then why the hell—"
Derek cuts him off, by reaching up and settling his clean hand around the curve of Stiles’ neck.
"It’s our first time," he assures him, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the ridge of his windpipe. "We’re both inexperienced here."
"That’s not exactly true, though," Stiles shrugs darkly, reaching a hand up to grip Derek’s wrist.
"Stiles, listen to me," he begs. "None of them— They don’t matter, okay? I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone before. You’re different. This is different. It’ll take some time to get used to.”
Stiles stays quiet for a moment, just the sound of their heavy breathing to be heard.
"I may be bad at it," he finally mumbles.
"You won’t be," Derek says firmly, pulling him down to try and kiss away any doubt that was gnawing at his mind.
It takes a few tries to finally get it. They have to figure out the angle, how fast Stiles can actually push into him, what position works best, et cetera, but Derek figured that would happen. Stiles learns very quickly that it’s best just to ask what feels good, or if he was going too fast or too slow. Derek too, learns what it’s like to feel Stiles’ cock press against his hole, feel it ease in, fill him up completely, and force the breath from his lungs as he bottoms out. He finds that he’ll never get tired of this, the way they actually fit together perfectly, the way it feels to have Stiles’ hips pressed up against his ass as he leans over and presses in, inch by inch and torturously slow.
"How’s that?" Stiles asks, when he slips fully inside that last time.
Derek can’t speak. His cock is throbbing. He nods. It’s all he can manage. Then he starts thrusting. He’s leaned over Derek, heat radiating from his body as his scent, tinged with sweat and lube and Derek’s own practically oozes off of him, and Derek can feel himself begin to melt into the bed as he groans. Each pushscrapepull of Stiles’ cock breaks the noise, the roll of his hips just— Fuck, everything. Derek can feel every vein and ridge of Stiles’ cock as he fucks into him, each thrust pushing the breath from his lungs and all extraneous thoughts from his brain, until his world narrows to the connection between them, and it’s all Stiles, Stiles, Stiles.
As his rhythm intensifies, each thrust pounding into Derek, the werewolf can feel himself begin to come apart at the seams.
"Stiles," he moans, "I can’t— Can’t hold on for much longer."
He’s not even touching himself, but with each push of Stiles inside him, he could feel the pulse of his orgasm in the base of his pelvis. He just wants to come, he wants Stiles to keep fucking him, to never stop, and he wants. He wants it all.
"Me neither," Stiles rasps.
He speeds up the tiniest bit, and Derek wants more.
And he gets it.
Stiles leans down, bracing his elbows against the crook of Derek’s shoulders, fingers lacing into his sweat-matted hair as he breathes out short, jagged breaths, swearing softly and murmuring Derek’s name like a goddamn prayer. Derek can feel him, feel his hips right up against his ass, feel the way his skin is slick with sweat and their mingled DerekandStiles scent. He reaches up and grips the back of Stiles’ neck and pulls their lips together, licking into his mouth and dragging from it a perfect, sobbing, utterly ruined moan that makes him want to fucking howl. He reaches down, and begins to stroke his cock, aching and sore from waiting.
There’s a sharp, high sound, and fingers tightening in Derek’s hair as Stiles gives in and comes inside him. His hips are pressed right up against Derek’s ass and their mouths are locked together as tight as possible. And it’s good, fantastic even, and Derek can’t get enough of it as he fucks up into the circle of his hand and back onto Stiles’ cock. With each stroke he can feel the come begin to slide out of his ass but fuck it he’s so close, and Stiles is there, all warm heat and breathing into his collarbone and—
Derek can’t suppress a snarl as he comes into the small space between them, hips bucking and thrusting as Stiles presses soft, open-mouthed kisses into the crook of his neck. When he finishes, Stiles kind of sags into him, not caring at all about the mess across Derek’s abs, and Derek loves it.
He loves how Stiles is still breathing heavily, like he just ran a marathon, how he’s just sitting there, lips half-parted, his cock still inside his ass, like he doesn’t want to break the connection, like he wants to stay inside Derek forever. Derek lets his aftershocks course across his body, sending already overwrought nerves into a frenzy.
As soon as Stiles starts to display discomfort and pull out, however, Derek reaches for his shirt where it landed earlier and uses it to clean them up. It feels cold and empty all of a sudden, and Derek pulls Stiles close again as soon as they’ve gotten rid of most of the mess.
When it’s all said and done, neither of them wants to move. Derek’s arms are looped lazily around Stiles’ back, enjoying the warm press of his body on top of him as he hums contently. Stiles’ breathing slowly turns steady and even, curling warm patterns into the side of Derek’s neck.
After a long moment, Derek nudges Stiles lightly.
"Well? How was it?" He asks.
Stiles shrugs. “Eh, I’ve had better.”
Derek snorts. “I’m quite certain you haven’t, actually.”
"What, had better sex with someone else or had sex at all?"
"Either?" Derek ventures, cocking a quizzical eyebrow up at the ceiling.
Stiles huffs out a laugh and nuzzles closer. “Fair point,” he intones matter-of-factly. “But if you want my overall assessment, I’d say we need to do it again. Several times. In several different positions. It’s best to have an average for these sorts of things.”
Derek hums. “Okay,” he agrees.
The silence roams for a while; long enough for Derek starting to expect Stiles to have fallen asleep. It’d make sense, even Derek himself can feel the sleepy afterglow of the orgasm starting to overtake him. But then Stiles speaks.
"Chris called me your mate," he murmurs against Derek’s skin.
Derek tilts his head to bury his nose in Stiles’ damp hair. “Yeah, he did.”
"What exactly does that mean?"
"What do you think it means?" Derek wonders curiously.
"How am I supposed to know?" Stiles asks. "Google is pretty much useless when it comes to the real stuff about werewolves."
Derek chuckles, hand sliding up to grab a handful of Stiles’ hair and pull just enough for Stiles to lift his head to look at him. There’s not much light, but enough for Derek to make out his eyes in the dim darkness.
"It means you’re mine," he says, and his voice comes out deeper than he’d expected, "but you can use any word you want. Mate, partner, lover—"
"Boyfriend?" Stiles suggests.
"Yeah," Derek agrees, running his fingers through Stiles’ hair. "That works too."
Stiles’ eyes flutter shut at the touch. “I don’t care what anyone calls it,” he mumbles. “As long as I’m yours.”
Derek’s heart jolts in euphoria, and the second time tonight he feels like howling. He moves his hand to cup Stiles’ face, thumb lazily stroking his cheekbone.
"And you are," he assures. "You smell like mine. Every wolf can sense it and every hunter can see it."
Stiles’ face cracks into a smile, and it’s one of the most beautiful things Derek has ever seen. His hair and face is damp with sweat, and his eyelids looks heavy, but the honest grin is almost enough to light up the whole room.
Then he leaps forward, claiming Derek’s lips in a hard kiss, and Derek moans down his throat while returning it for all he’s worth.
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