holy incoming comment fic kink meme, batman!
So, as some of y'all know about me and some of y'all probably don't, I have one particular kink that I would absolutely call bulletproof for me since I love it in basically all of the situations ever and with all of the characters, barring a few scenarios that really squick me and a few ships that I don't want to read period even if the fic is
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Of course Stiles notices too--actually, notices isn't the right word here--he's obsessed with it. He's noticeably turned on by it, is always touching it and rubbing it, especially after they eat and it's maybe a little bigger. And Derek's all confused and conflicted, because he's got fat, why is that sexy, until one day Stiles is like, "You like my belly, why can't I like yours?" And Derek is like, "I just like your belly because it's growing with our child, Stiles." But Stiles grins and pets Derek's round little belly and says, "Yeah, and I just like your belly growing because it's growing."
And then Stiles takes him to bed and feeds him strawberries and cream while he tells him how hot he looks, how much bigger his belly could get, how round and full he's going to be once Stiles starts making milk for him, and by the end of the night Derek is pretty convinced that, yeah, his belly is pretty great.
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And both Stiles and Derek find nothing hotter than that, than Derek trying to find a comfortable position with his new weight, and Stiles' huge belly, for him to breastfeed. How it's too much milk, too much for him to be able to drink it all each time Stiles needs to be milked, and be comfortable. But Stiles doesn't care. He wants, he needs, Derek to drink it all, to be able to give Derek this, this closeness and...
Ahem. Anyway...
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Stiles knows that most women sort of dread pre-birth lactation, that they'll refuse to let their partners play with their nipples for fear that the stimulation will lead to leaking. Stiles, though, has an Alpha werewolf to nurse. The moment he feels his nipples start to puff up, he's on those suckers until they start dripping thick, pearly drops of milk three weeks before the baby books predict, so loaded with fat and nutrients they're practically cream. After all, he'll have a litter of pups to feed in a few months.
Derek likes this new addition to his diet. It's different than lasagna, or chicken paprikash, or steak and potatoes, because this is something Stiles is making for him, for their pups. It's sweet and creamy and it tastes like mate. It tastes like home. And when he latches on to Stiles' nipple and sucks out those precious few drops of milk, held by Stiles, the heartbeats of their pups steady beneath Derek's head and Stiles's own heartbeat just below Derek's mouth, he can't help but want to feel full.
But what starts as drops quickly becomes streams. Stiles' body is prepared to make as much milk as he needs, and as Derek nurses more and more, Stiles' milk flows heavier and heavier. It's far too early to start pumping and saving it, and Stiles refuses to let such a nutritious bounty go to waste, and so he makes sure that every last drop goes straight in Derek's belly.
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He starts massaging his breasts, for lack of a more rightful word, every single morning and every evening. It helps, so very fast, even he's surprised about it. He can start seeing his breasts getting fuller by the day, puffier, growing from his once flat chest to a small pretty A cup, almost as if he were a budding little girl. It's not until he's almost reached what he would consider a B cup (not that he's a big connoisseur of these things, but whatever) that he starts seeing them drip translucent at first, kneading them as if they were dough until he starts producing thick white milk. He's barely five months along, and already he looks as if he were due any minute now, considering he's carrying three pups, and werewolf pregnancies last eleven months.
That night, it's special for them both. It takes Stiles a moment to find a position comfortable enough for his knew bulk, placed careful enough to allow easy access for Derek to his breasts. He places enough pillows at his back that he's half reclined against the backboard of the bed, waiting there for when Derek arrives.
It's obvious that the position, as well as the fullness of Stiles' breasts are a surprise to him, the way he halts at the door, breathing heavily. Stiles can even see the hint of claw on Derek's fingers, the flash of red in his eyes before he can control himself. Stiles can't stop himself from smirking, even if he wanted to. He places both hands on either side of his belly, pressing in, feeling the beginning of twittering inside him, the pups still too small, too young, to properly move.
Stiles tilts his head, can almost feel Derek's heavy breathing. His gaze shifts from Derek's face, blushing cheeks, down to his heaving chest, soft from the first few months of the pregnancy, and even more so, from the heavy feeding in the past month. Derek's chest isn't big enough to be called breasts (not yet, Stiles can't help but think, a shiver making its way down his back), but at the end of the softening of the muscles, start the outward curve of his defined belly. Stiles bites on his lower lip, can feel himself exuding lust from every single pore.
Fuck. I'm at work! I'm going home, dude. I hate you.
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Derek sits down on the bed with a grunt, still full from the countless slices of thick, chunky chicken pot pie Stiles had gotten him to eat for dinner (he's stopped keeping track of numbers--Stiles hasn't, of course, Derek knows that there's a spreadsheet on his computer with servings and calories and inches and pounds--but for Derek, all that really matters is when Stiles says he's had enough, says he's big enough, heavy enough). In the beginning of all this, he could pack down plate after plate until he had to unbutton his jeans to make room for his belly, and then only an hour or two later be completely back to normal. Now, though, it's like his werewolf metabolism is finally giving up under the insane crush of food it's been digesting for the last month. Now, it's been three hours since dinner and Derek still feels heavy and swollen with food.
He doesn't know when they're going to stop, when they're going to decide that Derek has gained enough, but he gets the feeling that they've only just begun. (Especially when just looking at Stiles' enormous belly, watching him waddle because of the size of it, is enough to make him rock hard in seconds, and Derek wants to be big enough to return the favor.)
"C'mere, big guy," Stiles says softly, beckoning Derek closer.
Derek moves, scootches back carefully, until he's within Stiles' reach and Stiles is pulling him down to cradle his head and kiss him. Stiles is soft around him, breasts and belly and heat. The scent of mate and pups and milk is like a drug.
When Stiles pulls back, there are a few seconds in which Derek can only lay there and blink up at him stupidly.
Stiles smiles. "Ready for dessert?"
Derek's eyes dart to Stiles' nipple, the one that has the faint sheen of dried milk on it. He nods.
"You sure?" Stiles asks slyly, reaching down to rub a hand over Derek's belly, and oh he always knows just where to press to make Derek moan. "You better not start something you can't finish."
"I can," Derek promises, though he isn't actually sure about that. It doesn't matter. Stiles wants him to, and he will. "I can, I will, Stiles, please--"
Stiles' hand moves to his left breast, and he only needs to push his fingers oh-so-gently into the soft, pale flesh, and a stream of milk emerges.
Derek latches on, eyes falling shut, and he begins to suckle.
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Stiles can feel Derek's tongue lapping at the very tip of his nipple, and Stiles' hands close around Derek's face, cradling him carefully, not pulling him closer nor away from his breast.
Derek shift on the bed, from where he'd been sitting on the bed, belly starting to spill over the waistband of his already too tight jeans, to kneeling by Stiles' side. The new angle, Stiles can't help but think, will put a crick on Derek's neck, but he doesn't seem to care. Stiles' one hand moves from Derek's cheek to the side of his belly. He doesn't knead, not yet, just place sit there, almost cold against the too warm skin of a werewolf.
It's hard under his touch, heavy. It's almost filled to the brim, but that matters little. His breasts are now producing milk, finally, after almost a month of working on them. He doesn't know how much milk he has, but however he might hold, Derek will drink it all. Every. Single. Drop. From both breasts. Until he's full. Too full. Until Stiles starts producing milk again, and they do this, all over again.
He tries to shift himself, lay lower on the bed, or sit up a bit more, but it's more difficult than it could ever be comfortable. In the movement, a spam of pain on his lower hits, and without meaning too, Stiles' hand on Derek's belly tightness.
Derek groans, loud and clear, mouth falling open slightly, eyes squeezed shut. Milk dribbles from his lips, from his tongue, onto Stiles' bare breast. Stiles stares at Derek for a second, the way he's holding himself too still, the way one of his hands have fallen to Stiles' belly, the other to Derek's own. The way he's not even breathing. Stiles' gazes shifts to Derek's jeans, to the too tight waistband and underneath it all, under the curve of Derek's stomach, to the defined bulge of his erection. He's seconds away from coming. Just from this. Stiles wishes nothing more than that he could push Derek down on the bed and fuck him senseless.
---
Okay. Yes. That. *g*
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Derek is overwhelmed from the first taste. It's like an explosion in his mouth, a creamy, thick, warm explosion that he can't swallow fast enough because it's Stiles'. He licks and sucks, desperate for more, barely remembering not to use his teeth, and greedily drinks down the stream of milk that flows into his mouth. It comes steadily out, and he swallows, swallows, swallows. The taste is incredible. And Stiles is holding him, steadying him, providing for him--
He shifts, seeking more, and the sudden sharp ache of his full belly only has him sucking harder, wanting to be round and bursting with Stiles' milk. He wonders if he could lay on his back next time, rest his head atop Stiles' belly and let Stiles cradle his head as he drinks, like a pup. He wonders how this will be different when Stiles is bigger yet, too big to move, and Derek is pounds and pounds heavier, if it will be almost too much for them and they'll finish their sessions panting and breathless and so, so round.
God, he can't wait.
The ache of his belly is persistent now, and more persistent still with each swallow. He's full, he's so full, and the thought that he still has another breast full of milk left makes his cock throb. It's so much. He feels huge, and he can't help himself when he reaches down to press on his side, dizzily wishing he could relieve the pressure but at the same time wanting more.
Then there's Stiles' hand and it's digging into his belly and the pain, the pleasure, it's too much and he groans.
Milk is dribbling down his face, and God, he must look obscene, but he can't even think about that right now. He's so full. Everything is ache and want and the hot throb of his cock ready to spill at the slightest touch.
Panting, he fumbles his hand lower, trying to undo the button of his jeans, but they're too tight and his fingers are shaky with arousal. He can't do it.
"Stiles," he pleads, moving his hand up to rub his belly, because breathing hurts.
"Not yet," Stiles says, taking over, rubbing Derek's packed belly in a practiced, soothing way that Derek can never manage. "Not yet, Der, you're not finished drinking."
Derek whines. He can't help it. "Can you--can you just--it's too tight, please--"
"Here," Stiles says soothingly, bringing Derek down again to his breast with one hand, the other moving down Derek's belly and to his jeans. "Keep going."
His fingers wiggle inside Derek's jeans, cool against his overheated skin, and Derek fights not to whimper at the pressure as his knuckles dig in sharply--but then the button is free and Derek's belly surges forward, splitting the zipper all the way down.
"Derek..." Stiles reminds him.
And Derek drinks.
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I dunno if you want to put this in the fills as a WIP? I guess it doesn't have a title. Um.
Good to the Last Drop
The Milky Way
Cream of the Crop
Honey, Suckle
???
I'm a fan of puns. Obviously. sdlucly, have you got any ideas?
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Snow Patrol, It's beginning to get to me?
Uhh!! Set down your glass? It kinda alludes to milk, so it's kinda like a pun??? *bounces*
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(I tried searching through my iTunes for similar song-puns, but all I've got is Drink Up Me Hearties. So. Unless you think of something else, that sounds great!)
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