Say Hello to the Brushfire - Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles, NC-17.

[cho_malfoy]

Title: Say Hello to the Brushfire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Rating: NC-17.
Length: ~10,600 words.
Characters/Pairings: Derek/Stiles, with Scott and Sheriff Stilinski.

Content notes: (There aren't too many; I just wrote it kind of lengthy.) ( skip) I don't say it in the story because the characters wouldn't think about it, but I wrote this as a werewolves-don't-have-STDs universe. They still have some health problems, though (Stiles's mother is still dead because of a genetic illness). There's also non-specific mentions of Kate and Derek's relationship in the story, and while it's slightly altered to fit the story better, it's also just as problematic in consent ways. It's a small part of the story, but a big part of Derek's character.

Summary: The night before Stiles turns eighteen, Derek Hale spills coffee on him. Things get weirder (and more awesome) from there. (Alpha!Stiles AU)

Notes: Written for the "animal play" square on my
kink_bingo card. Since this is an AU, I took all kinds of liberties. The title comes from My Chemical Romance's "Tomorrow's Money".

Also on AO3 and DW.


Say Hello to the Brushfire

It's not Stiles's fault that he spends the night before his eighteenth birthday covered in scalding coffee.

Well, okay. He's not blameless. But even if he was on the phone with Scott and not paying attention to everything around him, he was standing still and in line. At the very end, maybe, and a little bit apart from the next person in line...whatever. He was there. It counts.

Stiles's first reaction when it happens, with his still-growing reflexes, is to shove his arm away from his ear to keep his phone from getting shorted out. Never mind doing something logical, like stepping out of the way and avoiding the problem entirely. His second was to smell the coffee beans. His nose is ridiculous this week, which Scott had said would happen, but until Stiles had started smelling all the trees in Beacon Hills, he hadn't believed him. Being in Starbucks is enough to make him lightheaded from all the sniffing. Having coffee beans right on his skin nearly makes his brain overload.

His third reaction, as the heat spreads on Stiles's chest, is to yell. "Ow. Ow. Ow."

Finally, he caps the whole thing off by throwing off both the plaid overshirt and the thin t-shirt he'd been wearing underneath and jumping around in place. It's not dignified, but it does actually help cool down his skin. It's only taking a couple seconds for his skin to go from sunburn red to pasty again, at least.

It's only after he turns around three or four times that he realizes the shadow at the corner of his eye is actually a person. The guy who spilled the coffee, no less. He wasn't apologizing or doing anything like a civilized being; he's just...staring.

"Um, could you hand me a napkin or something?" Stiles turns to face him head-on. "Or my dignity? That would be..."

Great. It's not just a guy. It's Derek freaking Hale, star of Stiles's wet dreams.

Stiles hasn't seen him since...his family's house had been attacked, probably. Two or three years ago, if he remembers. But even back then, Stiles hadn't been around Derek's height. Stiles is slimmer, sure - he's totally going to blame his nearly-legal metabolism for that, and no one can stop him - but apparently, he'd had a bigger growth spurt than he'd realized.

It means Stiles and Derek are eye-to-eye. That seems important for some reason, but he doesn't figure it out by the time Derek scowls. Because Stiles is totally staring back at him. Who's the creep now?

It's only when Derek shoves a fistful of napkins in his direction and stalks out the door that Stiles hears Scott's voice on the other end of Stiles's still-outstretched arm. He pulls his phone back in.

"Huh? Sorry, dude, just suffered attack by douchebag. No, I'm fine."

Stiles grabs his soggy shirts from the floor and leaves before he can count how many people are watching at him. He can always get his caffeine boost from the drive thru.

-

The first hints of dawn are just starting to peek through his window when Stiles wakes with a gasp.

All of his skin's tingling. Which it's been doing for a few weeks now. Eighteen's more of a guideline than a rule for the first change as far as the body's concerned; Scott first started having emotional control problems six months before his birthday. But it's not legal for an adult to help someone through the change until that person's also an adult. There's always the risk of horrible, grisly death if you've got a genetic defect. Whee.

It doesn't matter. Stiles is officially eighteen years of age, and he is turning into a motherfucking werewolf today.

He runs the entire way to Scott's house and bounces up to the second story. Not the kind of full-story bounce Scott can do - those tricks don't happen until after the change - but enough that Stiles finds handholds on the side of the house for balance and not support.

Stiles lands on the roof pretty light on his feet, but Scott's already got the window open, so he leans over, covering his mouth while he finishes yawning. "Didn't I say you wouldn't need your alarm?"

"Excuse me for liking to be prepared." Stiles pokes his head in. "So are we doing this thing or what?"

Scott shoves him back out. "Not here, weirdo. I have things Mom can't buy again."

"Just because some of us like to go shred happy on the full moon..."

Scott snorts. "Come on."

-

They go jogging, and for once, Stiles doesn't resent that Scott's clearly hanging back for his benefit. If he manifests as an alpha or a beta, he'll keep pace after the change. If he's an omega, he'll be faster. There's no losing here.

He laughs when Scott turns and comes to a stop on the lacrosse field. "Nice choice."

"Thanks." Scott beams. "Mom took me into the woods, but I liked being able to see everything when it first happened, you know?"

Stiles rubs his hands together. "Not yet."

They both strip, and it's a lot better than getting half naked in the middle of Starbucks. The air's chilly, and Only Slightly Smaller Stiles - okay, he has to get a better nickname for his dick - isn't entirely pleased. But the complete Stiles has been running hotter for the last month, so steam's coming off the moisture he sweat while jogging, and it adds to the last of the mist clinging to the trees. It's all kind of surreal.

"The sun's better, too." Scott puts his hands on his hips and scans the field. He's never had a problem with modesty, but then, he also has that attractiveness thing. Stiles is still hoping he grows into that. "You can see great in the dark, but I don't know, there's just something about the daylight that really-"

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" Stiles crosses his arms over his chest.

"Maybe a little." Scott claps a hand on his shoulder. "Thanks, dude. It means a lot that you'd ask me."

Stiles grins and smacks Scott's arm. "Childhood pact. I don't break those."

"Not even the one where we'd mate if you were an omega?"

"Please," Stiles says. "I am a man of my word. I'll bend over for you any time."

"And that was a nice way to ruin that moment."

"Hey, you brought it up first."

Scott snorts. "Get ready."

"How?" Stiles hasn't seen more than the videos they show everyone in sex ed - sorry, adult prep, like most of the kids in there aren't waiting to find out about knots - and even when he was eleven, he'd figured no one did the dramatic crouch and growl.

"Sit down."

"Seriously?" The grass is wet and half-frozen. He can feel his balls shrinking just from the thought.

But Scott's kneeling. Right. That would work, too.

Stiles gets down on his knees and puts his hands on either side of himself. There was something to be said for the movie-style change. It would be pretty sweet to dig his fingers into the grass dramatically when his fingers elongated, maybe howl and whine...

...but the second Scott's power hits him, he blacks out.

He wakes up as a tongue licks his muzzle - which he didn't have before. Wow. His muzzle's dark, and as he picks himself up onto his back paws, he's dark all over. Black fur. Freaking awesome.

Scott looks...well, like Scott as a wolfman. He's brown and furry and his red alpha eyes are wide with concern. Stiles isn't feeling the urge to bare his neck to Scott. He isn't feeling the urge to fight him, either. He doesn't know what that makes him.

But Scott turns back, losing a good foot of height in the process, and grins up at Stiles. "Alpha. I knew it."

Scott hugs his torso, digging his face into Stiles's fur, and Stiles lets his tongue hang out of his mouth and carefully hugs him back, fingers out to keep from gouging Scott with his claws.

Apparently, it makes Stiles Scott's friend.

-

They go running up and down the field in wolf form, and Stiles gets why Scott doesn't like being penned in.

No matter what the movies say, Stiles doesn't lose himself. It's more like he's test-driving a new car than changing into someone - or something - different. But there are a lot of nifty new features: more intense colors, twitching ears that can hear better, smells.

Really good smells, actually. The grass is great, and Stiles likes the way it comes off the metal of the bleachers and the plants at the treeline, but there's something else, too. Something kind of familiar and sweet, and forget scenting trees, which Stiles gave himself a good few minutes to do right at the beginning. He wants to find whatever that is and rub himself on it for a while.

But when he starts to track it into the forest, Scott moves into his way, and he moves to the side whenever Stiles moves to either side to get past him. What the hell.

Scott turns human again and raises his hands in the air. "Hang on a sec, dude."

Stiles tries to move past him again, but as a human, Scott is slightly faster. He's not in half form or anything, but he's still in Stiles's way.

"Don't snarl at me. Just listen."

Snarling? What? But Stiles's lip is curled, and he does feel a bit of rumble in his chest. He blinks and eases back.

"Yeah, that's good. What you're smelling? It's an omega. And I wish I had smelled it before we started. Mom said it's better to smell your first omega in human form."

Stiles makes himself shift back for the first time. It takes a second because, even with years of practice about in school, it's hard to settle his thoughts long enough to do it. He stops a couple times in the middle because wow, feeling things shift around is weird and creepy. But he manages. When he's done, he's smaller and lacking fur and still surrounded by that freaking amazing smell.

"That's an omega?" He lets his eyes drift close. He would never mock scent porn ever again. Even if scenting on people was still kind of hilarious to watch.

"Um. Stiles."

Scott's looking away from Stiles, and when Stiles looks down, he...oh. He's hard. And not the kind of hard he was before. He could only get half-hard even as recently as his jerk-off session last night.

"Huh," Stiles says. "I really am a grower."

"Good for you." Scott turns him around and follows behind, probably so he can't see just how alpha Stiles is. His loss. "Let's go back. I know your dad wanted to see you."

"He has work today."

"He took the morning off just in case." Scott directs them back to their pile of clothes. "It was supposed to be a surprise, but I thought you might, uh, want to be prepared."

Because...oh. Yeah, he can't go wolf in front of his dad when he's hard. Awkward.

"Thanks. Now I'll be able to wait until I wish Dad goodbye before I go feral and never show my face around here again."

Scott tosses Stiles one of his shirts. "That's the spirit."

-

Dad's already waiting in wolf form in the backyard when Stiles gets home. Stiles has seen him as a wolf before - every kid sees their parent that way at one point or another, even if it's not really safe to change in front of a kid - but never as an alpha seeing a beta. There's none of the macho bow-to-me impulse that all the cartoony pamphlets warned about. Just his dad with a little gray in his muzzle wagging his tail.

Scott waits on the back step as Stiles changes and walks forward. His backyard has never felt so small before, so it only takes him a couple steps before he makes it over. And then, because he's Stiles, he waves his wolfy hands in kind of a ta-da motion.

Dad smiles, and, because he's Dad, bares his neck.

Stiles rolls his eyes. No way is he going to howl and lay his teeth over his dad's neck. Way too last century. He just licks Dad's muzzle a couple times and shifts back, hugging him. He always liked hugging his dad as a wolf. It's even better when he's not afraid of getting gored by his dad's claws.

He draws back, and Dad changes, grabbing a robe he had hanging in the trees.

"Your mom would be so proud," he says.

Of course he'd say the one thing guaranteed to bring tears to Stiles's eyes. Stiles nods his thank you, and when Dad walks over to Scott, brushes the moisture free. Role expectations are crap - Stiles would never tell Scott he couldn't cry because he's an alpha - but he hates crying.

"Stiles!" his dad yells after a minute. "You want cake, or is Scott going to eat the whole thing?"

"Just because I ate most of mine on my birthday..."

"All of it," Stiles says, turning. "I was there, dude. I have the footage on my phone."

He darts inside. No way is someone else eating his birthday cake.

-

Stiles wakes up in the middle of the night.

It's not because his skin feels weird or anything; it feels normal for the first time in weeks besides how hot it is, and Stiles left the window open with that in mind. Actually, the day was weirdly normal in general. Just cake with his dad and Scott, a quick run around town in the patrol car so Stiles could take in everything with the heightened senses, and some MMO time at home. Stiles didn't have the kind of change that would need hormones or supervision, which made sense since his pre-change symptoms had been pretty mild and boring. No big wolfman rampages for him.

...except he's on his knees at the window, and he doesn't remember getting there. And he doesn't remember going half mode again, either; his claws are curling into the window frame, and his teeth are slipping out of his lips.

He's about to call for his dad - he left his bedroom door open just in case Stiles needed to get him for anything - when his nostrils flare.

The omega.

Stiles climbs out the window and tosses himself down. There's no trail to follow. Just a path of scent from the door to a spot in front of the house. Stiles whines a little and crawls around, but there's no one to find.

He follows the scent back up to the house where a package is leaning against the doorstep. It's drenched in the omega's smell. Stiles rubs his neck on it a few times and some of the packaging tears away. He tears the rest, gouging the plain box with his claws, and opens it.

It's a shirt. And it smells exactly like the omega.

-

"Stiles?"

He jerks awake. His dad's staring down at him in his bathrobe and pajamas, the newspaper in his hand. His eyebrows are furrowed.

Probably because Stiles is lying in the remains of the package he tore apart last night and clutching the shirt to him. It doesn't smell too much like the omega anymore, which is probably a good thing because holy shit, he totally wolfed out and went searching. He even did an awesome werewolfy move that he was too out of it to enjoy.

Stiles bonks his head against the side of the house. "I don't suppose you have silver chains or something?"

His dad smiles wryly. "Breakfast is on the table."

-

Breakfast is great. Breakfast is amazing. Breakfast is a choir of angels singing just how amazing bacon is. He wants to shift a tail just so he can wag it.

"Did you lace this with crack or something?" Stiles asks with a mouthful of crispy deliciousness. "Because seriously. Crack."

Dad winces and hands Stiles a napkin. "You're going to go through more of a carnivore mood for a while."

"Mmm."

If Stiles had been thinking clearly, he would have seen what was coming. But at least Dad waits until he's sleepy and stuffed before saying, "So, about omegas."

"Oh no. No, no, no. We are not doing The Talk."

"It doesn't have to be The Talk." Dad picks up Stiles's empty plate and goes for the sink. "But you're an alpha, and you don't know-"

"I already learned everything in school. And everything school doesn't teach, the Internet or Scott does." But actually, since the topic's out there. "What's it like for a beta?"

Dad shrugs. "Probably what it was like for humans before they died out. Attraction, dating...and the rest."

Stiles so does not need to be thinking of his parents' sex lives. But since his mouth likes to go without him, he asks, "And that's different than alphas and omegas how?"

"Betas aren't affected by heat, for one." Dad sits at the table across from Stiles. "But it's mostly mating. I assume you talked about that-"

"In school? Yeah." The teachers hadn't talked about it much. It had been all about legal bondings and making sure to have those in place before actually getting with the mating business. But Stiles had been in the locker rooms of Beacon Hills High for four years now. Everyone talked about finding compatible mates when they weren't talking about the porn they'd streamed the night before.

"It's not the same for betas. And honestly, most of the adults I know wouldn't want it to be."

"Because...why exactly?"

"Life isn't a romance novel, Stiles. Just because your body decides someone else is perfect doesn't mean your head does."

Stiles taps his fingers on the table. "It seemed that way for you and Mom."

Crap, he hadn't meant to mention Mom. Seeing that pained look on Dad's face isn't fun. But Dad must see something on Stiles's face because he holds up his hand before Stiles can change the subject. "It wasn't perfect. You've got to know that."

"But it was special."

"Yeah." Dad smiles, and it's mostly happy. It's good to see. It took Dad a very long time and a lot of booze to get to a smiling point. "But that's my point. If I was an alpha, or she'd been the alpha and I'd been the omega, it would have been a lot more extreme. It's hard to keep things together when things are constantly pushed to the limit."

"That's what she said."

Dad rolls his eyes, but he gets up and lays a kiss on the top of Stiles's head. "I'm guessing that means you're done listening."

He walks off. Stiles calls "Good talk!" after him and slumps in his chair, huffing a breath.

Okay. Stiles can kind of get where Dad's coming from with the whole steady thing. After Mom's shifting disorder flared up years ago, nothing had been steady again. Stiles had spent more time with his head between his knees in the bathroom at school than actually sitting in class the year after she died. It had only eased when Stiles had snuck in a police scanner in his room and dragged Scott out on calls when he was free. They mostly resulted in Dad hauling people away to the drunk tank, but wrestling drunken assholes in wolf form had been cathartic for both Stilinskis. Even if Stiles had only watched.

"Steadiness," Stiles mutters. "Sure." Because someone who's all about the quiet life goes into law enforcement.

He shifts his legs, and the t-shirt in his lap moves. The omega smell drifts up, and Stiles takes a deep breath. If only he knew who would...

A t-shirt.

He looks down to check. Yeah. It's almost the exact same one that got ruined in the coffee shop.

Stiles groans and bonks his head on the table a few times for good measure.

-

Being proactive is good. That's Stiles's motto, and it's definitely better than sitting around and waiting for Derek to stalk him again.

"Yeah," Stiles mutters. He clenches his teeth as he shifts the Jeep into gear. "Because me stalking him is so much better."

It's not stalking if he goes to the burned-out wreck that was the Hale house. It's creepy and more than a little depressing, sure, but it's not stalking. It's following up on a message Derek left him. Yeah. No jury in the world would convict him...for more than trespassing. Whatever, slap on the wrist.

Since it's cloudy out, when Stiles pulls up in front of the old house, it looks even darker and sadder than it probably does in full sunlight. For a second, he doesn't want to lose the barrier of steel and windshield between him and the house. Then he shakes himself because, come on. It's not like he's going in.

He gets out and crunches on leaves as he walks to the front door. The leaves' musty and decaying smell follows him in kind of a cool way; he hadn't noticed in his pass by the forest yesterday how pungent they were. Maybe if studying chemistry in school actually dealt with how awesome things smelled when you hit the golden age, he'd pay attention more. Or better.

A twig snaps. Stiles jerks his head in the direction of the sound, and sure enough, there's Derek, glaring a few feet away. And oh god, he smells as knee-weakening good as he had yesterday. Unfair. Scott had said smells would stop being distracting when Stiles got used to it, but there is no way that smell could ever be anything but attention-grabbing.

"Stiles," Derek says. He's looking down...at Stiles's hands. Because they're claws. Stiles wriggles his face a little, and yeah, he's definitely gone all wolfy again. But this time, he feels kind of in control of it. Maybe the whole startling-out-of-his-sleep thing made last night a fluke.

He focuses, and the claws disappear. His fingers still itch, but it's nothing next to the pre-change itch.

"Sorry," Stiles says. "I just...the shirt. That was you."

Even though it wasn't a question, Derek nods.

"You couldn't have knocked?"

"You're welcome."

Stiles snorts. Maybe it's because he's never actually talked to Derek, but he forgot how high his voice was. Not like Stiles is going to be singing bass any time soon. "I just...you left me a present. On my birthday. That usually means face-to-face time."

"It was a replacement. I didn't know it was your birthday."

"Oh, come on. You were at the field. I smelled you."

Derek pales. Maybe. He's not exactly super tan, and the cloud cover is doing weird things to Stiles's eyes as they try to compensate for the changing light. "Go home, Stiles."

"But-"

"Go home." He turns his back and changes. Without taking his clothes off, so they shred.

And then he runs.

Stiles should get back in the Jeep, go home, Skype with Scott about how bizarro his day has been. And maybe he would have if he'd turned the second Derek started to run. But Derek hovers a few feet before the treeline, and he turns back and looks at Stiles, and fuck. Fuck.

It takes Stiles about two seconds to strip, even when he trips over his jeans. And Derek's watching. Waiting.

But not for long.

Stiles shifts, and when Derek runs again, Stiles chases him on all fours.

Jumping from the second story of Stiles's house had been cool enough, sure. But running through the forest is something else. Stiles's eyes are watching for changes in the path, his paws are digging into the dirt and pushing him back, and the wind's bringing cool air to his fur and smells to his nose. He's not made for sprints, but god, it's still better than any suicide on the lacrosse field could ever feel.

Derek's hard to see in the trees at first, since his fur's as dark as Stiles's. It's only when Stiles stops looking for him directly and starts looking for shadows at the corner of his vision that he sees Derek weaving around. He's an omega, and he's faster, so it would be easy for him to lose Stiles. He's smaller in his omega form, and it'll take him a lot longer to tire.

But Stiles wasn't king of tag at Beacon Hills Elementary for nothing.

He feints to one side and lets Derek start to cut across. And then he zigs when Derek expects him to zag, and bam, full-on tackle. Stiles has been both on the bench and on the field as a practice dummy enough to know how to grab and twist so he takes the brunt of the fall. With the fur and the bed of leaves on the ground, it only hurts when they skid against a tree. And then, adrenaline's singing through Stiles's veins, so that's pretty much nothing, too.

Derek turns back to human form right away, and Stiles follows right behind. He rubs his neck against Derek's, and god, it's like bathing in his smell. They're both hard and naked, but as weird as it sounds, Stiles is way more concerned with getting to that smell than doing anything about it.

He fails at teenage boy, but whatever, he'll atone for it later.

For now, Derek wraps his arms around Stiles and rubs back, and yeah, boning can wait.

-

A hand shakes his arm. "Stiles."

"Ten more minutes," Stiles mutters, squishing his eyes shut.

"Stiles. Wake up."

That...is not Stiles's Dad. That is a good six feet of solid, naked muscle under his hand; Stiles is not super familiar with the feeling, but it's kind of hard to not know six-pack abs when you feel them. And when he opens his eyes, that is a scowl around yellow omega eyes, and that is dirty leaves under Derek's back.

"Crap," Stiles says. "Crap. I totally chased you."

"It's okay."

"No, it's really not. I told myself after I woke up rolling around in that shirt that I would quit being hormonal for about five minutes, and crap, it's dark out." They must have been lying there for hours. The sliver of the moon's in the sky, and sure, Stiles can see almost like it's the middle of the day, but that doesn't make a potential grounding any less real. He'd said he would be back for dinner. "Crap, Dad's going to kill me."

"I thought it was your birthday." Derek doesn't seem inclined to let Stiles go, but when he pushes a little, he retracts his arms, and Stiles gets to his feet.

"Yesterday. Birthday get-out-of-jail free cards only really last one day, and that's if I'm lucky. Oh god, my dad's the sheriff. He could actually throw me in jail. I left my clothes back at the car, didn't I?"

Derek nods once, and...is that a smile? How does he get to smile when Stiles is pretty much dead and buried?

Stiles frowns. Then he points at Derek. "You told me to get lost. Then you wanted me to chase you."

The hint of a smile disappears. It's replaced by something...vaguely ashamed. Maybe Stiles isn't grounded. Maybe Stiles is in Bizarro World, and there are no such things as curfews in this place. Or getting pissed when you miss a dinner, since it's not really a curfew...

"Calm down," Derek says, getting to his feet. "I'll walk you back to your car."

Stiles turns away because man, if he's going to be dead, he can't look at how amazingly cut or hung Derek is. Even though he has a pretty good image of every inch of Derek - every inch - burned into his brain during his little scenting free-for-all. Fresh images would just add insult to injury.

"You're naked," he says. "You're naked and beautiful and tell me you actually wanted me to chase you or I really will go feral, no joking this time."

Derek walks over to Stiles's side. Stiles keeps his eyes firmly on Derek's face.

"I did," Derek says. "I could smell you in Starbucks. It's why I didn't watch where I was going, and...it's just not a good idea."

"I didn't need the coffee bath, no. Or the brush-off."

Derek shakes his head. "It's not a good idea."

"Not a good...?" Oh. "You're kind of amazing at mixed signals, aren't you?"

Derek starts walking, and oh no, that is a perfect ass, and that's pretty much the exact thing that Stiles can't look at. He jogs to catch up.

"So you followed me to the field yesterday because, what, that's a good way to keep your distance?"

"I did it because I didn't know how old you were. Are." Derek's stare goes distant. "Omegas can smell alphas years before the alphas manifest. Or before the omegas change for the first time."

"So I'm obviously not jailbait. But you said it's not a good idea. Present tense. That implies you still think something's wrong."

"I'm still older than you."

"My mom and dad were a decade apart in age."

"And they probably mated when they were out of their teens."

Derek's clenching his fists, but he doesn't look particularly mad. Well, more than usual. There's something about his face that seems kind of stuck that way, but with everything that's happened to him, valid. No, he looks...

"Scared," Stiles says quietly. When Derek looks over, he says louder, "What are you scared of?"

Derek starts walking faster.

"Oh, no." Stiles jogs to catch up, which is...weird naked. But he has to focus on something that's not his bouncing dick, so he says, "You say it's a bad idea, but you followed me. You told me to leave, but you let me tackle you. I get I'm not exactly the best catch-"

"Shut up."

"I mean, see my non-existent dating history-"

"Stiles."

"But why can't we see where this goes? At worst, we get a few hookups, and at best-"

"Stiles."

Stiles moves in front of Derek, holding his arms spread. "I think you're hot. Weird, but you were smiling at me earlier, and I get the feeling you don't just do that for everybody. So why not?"

"Because I want it too much!"

It's kind of a stereotypical movie moment: Derek's voice echoing in the woods, the sound of birds flying out of the trees, the way they stop in place to stare each other down.

"That's a bad thing?" Stiles asks finally, but right after it comes out of his mouth, he sees Derek shaking again. He's still giving Stiles a look that could wither plants, but. He's still scared.

Stiles nods to himself. "Okay. I'll give you my cell number when we go back to the Jeep. If I'm not grounded for life, we can meet up for...not coffee, since I'd rather not heal second-degree burns. A movie?"

Derek's scowl has changed from severely pissed to are-you-kidding-me. In Stiles's experience, that means progress. "You want to date me?"

"Uh. Yeah? I'm not into that whole alpha-role thing, but I'll even pay if that would make you-"

"Why would you want to date me?"

Stiles does look at Derek now. And his flagging boner gains interest again, which gets a piercing stare from Derek, so Stiles covers himself up with his hands and says, "Isn't that how it usually goes? Boy meets boy, boy gets boner, boy takes boy out to make sure they won't completely hate each other?"

"Not exactly." Derek's face is full-on neutral now. "But I can try that."

Stiles throws his hands up in the air. And then he drops his arms when Derek looks at his dick again. The victory dance can wait for clothes.

-

It turns out Stiles isn't grounded because it's not a school night and, hey, he's an adult. That's probably what Derek had meant when he'd asked if it was Stiles's birthday. Not that it makes a huge difference - Dad would probably still ground Stiles if he thought it would work - but enough of one in this case, at least.

When Derek calls mid-week, they set up a time and meet at the theater Friday night. Stiles picks seats up at the back, not because he's hoping they'll start necking - okay, not entirely - but because Derek seems like the kind of guy who likes to lurk in the back of rooms. Stiles hasn't seen anything to the contrary, anyway.

Stiles remembers exactly none of the actual movie. He half shifts in the middle because god, Derek doesn't just smell like Derek anymore. He smells like Stiles, too. He'd heard scenting did that sometimes, but he had no idea he'd be so into it.

If Derek smells it, it doesn't stop him from holding the door open to the pizza place after the movie. But again, Derek's just the kind of guy who walks in last. And pulls out chairs. And quietly laughs at Stiles's jokes and pretends he doesn't.

Stiles has to go in the bathroom in the middle of the dinner and call Scott.

"You would tell me if I'd crossed over into another realm of reality, right? If a superhero turned the planet backward and messed with space and time?"

"Superman was just going back in time," Scott says. "And yes, I would tell you."

"But there's no way someone this hot would be into me at all. My life is constant proof that it's not statistically possible."

"Your voice sounds funny. Where are you?"

"I'm in the bathroom. You think I'd have this conversation in front of Derek?"

"You're still on the date?"

"He's watched me eat and spill pepperoni on my shirt - the shirt he bought me, I might add - and he's not running screaming. This can't be the world I was born in."

Scott laughs. "Stiles, you're a total babe. Now go back out there before I bike over and drag you out."

He doesn't wait for Stiles to answer like the jerk he is, and while Stiles listens to the dial tone for a second, he's tempted to disavow all knowledge of Scott as a friend. Friends have each other's backs when they're on dates. Never mind that Stiles almost literally threw Scott at Allison on their first date; that was just Stiles fulfilling his duties. He was still around.

It isn't until he takes a deep breath that he calms down. Derek's smell is clinging to his skin, too, and it's kind of perfect. It's not enough to get him back out there, but it shouldn't be. Stiles shouldn't lose himself in this. He can still think.

He squares his shoulders and walks back out.

-

After the rest of the not-catastrophic date, Stiles drops Derek back at his car in the Beacon Hills High parking lot. He parks and asks, "Is there a reason you haven't shown me where you live?"

"Because it's only our first date?"

"It's just...you're not living in the old house, are you?"

Derek looks down at his lap. "No. I have an apartment. It's just a few days to the full moon."

"So?"

"So you're going to want to seek out your scentmate on the moon. I thought we should talk about what you wanted to do before we went that far."

Stiles frowns. "I'm lost."

"The moon's powerful. If you don't want to see me on the moon, it would be easier if you didn't know where I lived, in case whatever you had set up didn't work."

"My dad's the sheriff, remember? If I wanted to lock up..." Stiles's eyes narrow. "Oh my god, you actually think I don't want to spend the full moon with you."

"You haven't had sex before, have you?"

"What does that have to do with it?"

"Everything!" Great, they're back to the really hateful looks. So much for progress. "I'm not going to take advantage of you on the night you're not going to be able to control yourself, Stiles!"

Stiles holds up a hand. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought this was the one place the stereotype was right. Alphas don't go mindless on the moon. That's everyone else, and only at the very beginning."

"You don't know. You haven't done it yet."

Oh. Oh, Stiles gets it now. And he shouldn't ask now, this is definitely like a tenth date subject, but. "Your first time didn't go so well, did it?"

Derek clenches his jaw.

"How old were you? You had to be a kid, right?"

The pause before Derek's answer is long enough that Stiles is about to tell him to forget it, but he finally says, so quietly that Stiles almost doesn't hear. "Sixteen. She was in her twenties."

"You weren't legal? But-"

"She made me change. I thought it was an accident at the time."

Stiles is seeing red. Literal red. The whole parking lot is glowing with it, and his voice is growling when he asks, "Who?"

"She died in the fire." Derek stares Stiles right in the face and doesn't say anything about the teeth poking out. "She was the one who started it."

They sit in silence again until Derek unbuckles and starts getting out of the car. And Stiles...he gets a little of why Derek says he's a kid. He isn't prepared for something like this. Derek should find someone who won't screw with his head by the basic nature of his age. He should find someone who's dated and is maybe a Beta or an Omega and definitely won't stomp on his feelings by accident because he doesn't know any better.

But when Derek opens the car door, Stiles says, "Wait."

Derek stops. "Stiles..."

"No, look." Stiles breathes their scents in. It doesn't matter that they smell right together. It just calms him down a little. "I want to kiss you. And I want to spend the full moon with you because I like you. But I'm also an alpha, and people are going to expect me to know what I'm doing. You probably know better than anyone that I'm not going to have a fucking clue."

Derek's still half out of the car, eyes narrow and a little golden with...some kind of emotion. But he's not leaving, either.

"I had this crush, right? Lydia Martin. She's with Jackson, so it wasn't something that could actually happen, but every time I pictured us together, I always thought I would lose control. It terrified me." Stiles's laugh comes out a little shaky. "Don't get me wrong, she's not a wilting flower. She changed on her own at fifteen and beat three challengers at school the next day without breaking a sweat. It's just...before I met you, I was convinced that I wouldn't be me when all this happened. But except for chasing you down and falling out my bedroom window, I am. And you showed me that."

Derek's sitting back in the Jeep, watching Stiles like he's a bunny that's going to bolt. Oh yeah. A little predatory is good.

"So I want to kiss you," Stiles says. "Please."

Derek doesn't answer. Instead, he grabs Stiles's shirt and pulls him close crushing their mouths together.

It's another one of those experiences that's absolutely nothing like what he's heard before. He's grabbing Derek's shoulders and keeping him close, and Derek's letting him take the lead, parting his mouth when Stiles parts his mouth, nibbling on his lip, groaning as their tongues slide together. Stiles is tingling all over, and he's getting a direct line of Derek's scent in his mouth. It's a little awkward and slobbery, but Derek doesn't seem to care. Stiles certainly doesn't. It's too good.

Stiles is the first one to pull back. Derek is flushed and rumpled; Stiles apparently ruffled his perfectly gelled hair at some point, which shouldn't make him even hotter, but god. It does.

"I'll text you with my address," Derek says.

Stiles nods and leans in for a peck. Because they can do this now. Derek's totally doing the texting thing so Stiles can duck out if he wants, but after that kiss? Fat chance.

He's in if Derek's in.

-

"You know they're all staring at you, right?"

"Hmm?" When the words catch up, Stiles skids to a stop in the hallway on the way to class and grabs for his neck. Derek didn't kiss him there. No, Stiles would remember that. There's nothing that looks like he's been ravished unless his five checks before he left the door this morning missed something. "Is my fly down?"

Scott rolls his eyes. "Remember when I first hooked up with Allison? Pretty much all the seniors were staring at me, too."

"Because you exuded I'm-getting-laid vibes?"

"If that's what you call scent mating, yeah."

"Oh." Stiles starts walking again. He will not, absolutely won't, blush. "But we haven't. I mean, I scented him days ago, and he's kind of an amazing kisser-"

Scott winces like he wasn't the king of TMI when he first got laid. Granted, Stiles had asked him for all the details so he could live vicariously. It's just a bit hypocritical.

"-but we're still taking it slow."

"The full moon's tomorrow, isn't it?"

Yeah. Those are Stiles's cheeks heating up. "Yeah."

Scott drops his voice low. Not that it matters to anyone who's changed and close by - Stiles learned that the hard way in the locker room when Jackson was talking about his jock itch - but the polite people will fuck off, at least. "Are you scared?"

"Me? I'm the alpha. I've totally got it under control."

"That's what I thought, too." Scott's face goes dreamy.
"At least Allison really likes to ride-"

"We'll figure it out," Stiles says quickly. There's no stopping Scott when he gets started. "And if not, I'll just go in the bathroom and reacquaint myself with my hand."

"You'll call me either way?"

Stiles makes a scoffing noise.

"Great. Now we need to hurry before Finstock gives us detention."

That's enough to make Stiles run. The last time he got detention with Coach, he had to listen for an hour about the way his fur fell out in weird patches whenever he changed. Talk about oversharing.

-

It's a good omen that Dad's working swing shift the day of the full moon. Stiles can leave without any mentally scarring talks, and if Derek wants him to stay the night - fingers crossed - Dad will find the note telling him to call Scott if anything goes wrong. It feels like he should be saying he's staying the night at Scott's, like he's fifteen and sneaking out to a party, but he's a grown-up. He's supposed to be able to make mature decisions.

Or that's what he tells himself when he pulls up to Derek's condo and kind of beats up his steering wheel for a second. Not because he's doubting this. It's just the only way he can think to ease the tension that's tightening his chest.

He checks himself in the mirror one more time. "Okay. Go get laid. You can do it."

Of course he can do it. If Jackson can do it - and, as much as he loves him, if Scott can do it - so can Stiles. And he gets out and rings the doorbell after that because, if he keeps thinking, the fact that the night is likely to blow up in his face is just going to bring him down.

He rocks on his heels while he waits for Derek to open the door. What's the difference between an apartment and a condo, anyway? Derek said apartment, but Stiles tends to think of rows of boxes when he hears the word. This looks like a bunch of little houses that are barely connected. Or mini mansions. Stiles's house is not this nice, even if it's a little bigger.

He rings the doorbell again, and it sounds more like an orchestra than a bell or a chime. He rings it a third time, and wow, he can even hear multiple parts-

"The doorbell's not a toy."

"Gnagh!" Stiles grabs his chest. "You shouldn't sneak up on a guy. Particularly one with a history of panic..."

He trails off because. Wow. He's seen Derek naked, and he's seen Derek in his leather coat when he's lurking around, but he's never seen him shirtless, his exercise pants slinging low on his hips and showing off that hip cut thing that's really sexy. And he's barefoot. That shouldn't be a turn-on, but he wiggles his toes a little when Stiles looks, and it kind of is.

"You would've heard me coming if you hadn't been ringing the doorbell." Derek's not scowling, but he is clenching his hands a little.

"Right, yeah. Can I come in?"

Derek steps aside, and Stiles hops over the threshold. They're not vampires, but if anyone could revoke access, Derek in a bad mood could probably manage it. Derek turns to close the door, and...oh god, that's a tattoo on his perfectly chiseled back.

"You're staring at me." Derek's turned around, and even if the tattoo is out of sight, a perfect twelve pack is a pretty good substitute.

Stiles nods hard. "And I'm going to keep staring for a second."

"Or you could actually touch."

"I..." Wow. He can do that. That's the point of him being here. "...thought we were waiting for moonrise?"

"I'm waiting for moonrise," Derek says, stepping closer. "But you should probably take the edge off, or you'll last about five seconds."

Stiles's face contorts. It probably looks really unflattering - doing it in the mirror makes his nose flare in a really weird way - but his honor as someone who really wants to get laid is being threatened. "I will have you know I practiced jerking off for years for this moment. I think ten seconds is more likely."

Derek laughs. Actually laughs. It's not loud, but his face lights up in a way Stiles has never seen before. "Go sit on the couch. You want something to drink?"

"Whiskey?"

"Try again."

The kitchen's connected to the living room and only separated by the bar, so Stiles can watch Derek reach up to pull open cabinets and stretch his muscles and...yeah, he's hard.

Stiles casually puts a pillow over his lap and says, "Mountain Dew?"

"Because that will calm you down."

"What? I'm relaxed. Chill. If I were anymore zen right now, my bones would dissolve until-"

"How's water?"

It turns out that the sink is in the perfect position for Stiles to get a view of Derek's ass, and oh god. It bounces. There's a slight curve to his hips and his arms are ripped to hell and did Stiles mention tattoo? Derek's ass shouldn't be enough to push Stiles over the edge, but he's about five seconds from coming in his pants, and he clutches the pillow.

"Did you just whimper?" Derek asks, pulling the half-full glass away from the faucet. He stops in place when he looks at Stiles. Or the pillow, probably.

Stiles tries to smile. "Maybe?"

Derek rolls his eyes and puts the glass on the counter. "Move the pillow."

"Why?"

"So I can suck you off." He sounds vaguely pissed about the whole thing, and his eyes flash golden, but he adjusts himself, and. Wow. Derek's apparently a grower, too.

Stiles nearly beans Derek in the face when he tosses the pillow away. Thank goodness for werewolf reflexes.

Derek doesn't actually drop on his knees or manhandle Stiles like he's expecting. Derek straddles him instead, almost like Derek's a male stripper or something. Not that Stiles is complaining. An armful of male stripper, and that ass rubbing on his dick? He's had pieces of that fantasy. The full reality is way, way better.

It takes a second for them to kiss. Stiles is grinding against Derek's ass, and Derek's rubbing his bulge against Stiles's stomach, and some things get priority. But when they do, it's slow and patient. Derek leans in, but he lets Stiles explore his mouth, try different amounts of pressure, go from sliding to biting back to sliding, that kind of thing. Like he wants Stiles to take the lead.

Stiles breaks off with a gasp. "I kind of thought you'd just sling me over your shoulder and take me upstairs."

Derek raises an eyebrow, but he's not moving back. "Do you want me to?"

It would be easier, Stiles taking what's given, learning by watching. But easier isn't his thing. It doesn't have anything to do with being an alpha, and Derek's giving him space has nothing to do with being an omega.

He doesn't answer with words; instead, he grabs the back of Derek's head and kisses him hard. It hurts a little - Stiles's teeth catch his lip in a not-fun way, and he tastes blood - but just the couple times he's done this have given him some idea what's good for both of them. Derek moaning as Stiles nips him a couple times is proof of that.

Actually, the way Derek's grinding faster is proof, too. And maybe they should get their clothes off, but Stiles kind of loves this. Making Derek so wild he has to come right this second. Pushing back just for him and not because it's the angle he needs. Rubbing his chin over Derek's to really make sure their scents blend together.

Derek comes first, clutching Stiles's shoulders so hard it hurts, and Stiles can't resist pumping one of his fists in the air behind Derek's head. Achievement unlocked: making your boyfriend orgasm before you even though you're a virgin. The fact that Derek purposely rubs his ass against Stiles's dick during the last of his aftershocks and makes Stiles jizz just a few seconds later doesn't change that.

When Derek moves back enough for Stiles to see his face, he's sweaty and staring intensely. "Now you need your clothes off."

"Yeah." Stiles shifts a little. He's sticky, and he'll have to borrow something of Derek's to go home. "Do you have a washer, or...oh."

Stiles had been unbuttoning his jeans, but Derek bats his hands away and pulls the whole thing off so fast Stiles almost doesn't see him unzipping. After everything's off - including his shoes, which slow things down for a second - Derek's kissing Stiles's stomach, then down Stiles's hip, then down his thigh - and oh yeah, Stiles the Great is definitely not done, if the way his dick twitches gives a clue - and then down his calves. Soon, Stiles is half-naked and half-hard, and Derek's golden eyes are flashing.

"What about this?" Stiles asks, grabbing the hem of his shirt.

Derek noses up again for a second and takes a long inhale over the shirt. Because it's the one he bought Stiles, so it smells like both of them.

"Keep it on," Derek says.

And with that, Derek ducks down and wraps his mouth around the head of Stiles's dick.

Stiles has no basis for comparison on any of this, and he doesn't really regret that Derek's the first one besides himself to make his toes curl and his eyes roll up into his head. But it's like every nerve of Stiles's body is lighting up just with the way Derek sucks, and there's no way it was like this before the change. Jerking it solo wasn't anywhere close. Like, forget the same ballpark; it wasn't even the same sport.

Despite the fact that Derek's only mentioned experience was with a woman, it's obvious he's blown a guy. He's too confident licking around the shaft to make it sloppy, holding Stiles's balls while he teases under the head of Stiles's dick with his tongue, and setting a rhythm with a hand at the base of Stiles's dick when Derek works his mouth up and down the top.

Or that's what Stiles would probably think if he wasn't staring at the way his cock stretched Derek's lips. God. Best thing ever.

The first orgasm meant that Stiles isn't super ready to pop, but Derek grabs Stiles's hands from where they're clutching the couch cushions and puts them on his hair and pushes and...

"Really?" Stiles squeaks. Stiles has never had his dick near anyone's mouth before, never mind getting it sucked. Actually fucking Derek's mouth? That seems like it's in red-alert territory.

But Derek doesn't even pull off to tell him yes. He just glares up in a get-on-with-it way.

"S-stop me," Stiles says. "If you need to."

Derek hums around Stiles's dick, and he moans when Stiles's hips jerk into his mouth, so okay. He is pretty serious.

Stiles lets go.

What little neurons are still firing in his skull tell Stiles to keep it slow and even. He manages. For about five seconds. After that, he's going fast and deep, so deep that Derek's face gets really red. But Derek's groaning and lax, and...and...

And that's Stiles coming down Derek's throat, Derek's lips all the way to the hilt.

Derek swallows it all and pulls off, gasping a little. But even though his eyes are a little wet, the corner of his lips are turned up. "You're a natural," he says, voice hoarse. Because of Stiles.

Stiles laughs. "Yay."

"Nothing to say?"

"You can..." Stiles blinks hard and yawns. "Sling me over your shoulder now?"

Derek might actually grin, but Stiles's brain was probably just sucked out of his dick, so he can't actually judge on that one.

-

Stiles jerks awake, gasping.

His skin's tingling like it was for months. Only before, it was just a tingle; it was a little painful and enough to wake him up, but nothing to really get in his way. This? This is a burn, worse than any sunburn or scalding coffee or anything Stiles has ever felt in his life.

He reaches around - apparently, Derek did haul him upstairs at some point, so he's grabbing sheets on the bed - but all he finds is a beam of moonlight falling right on the comforter. It doesn't have any actual effect, of course. There's something about the psychic bonds of wolves in communities that makes their prime changing time fall on the full moon every month; there was a whole unit in biology on it this year. But the scalding feeling gets worse on Stiles's skin, and he yelps, pulling his hand away.

"It's okay." Derek's sitting in a chair next to a dresser, golden eyes piercing the gloom. "You'll feel better after you shift."

It's hard for Stiles to talk around his grit teeth. But he manages to say, "I hope so."

"It doesn't have to be all the way. Or more than once."

The way something under his skin feels about ready to explode doesn't really agree with Derek. But Stiles growls loudly and lets go just a little bit, and as he feels his claws come out and his face rearrange, the feeling disappears like it was never there. It's easier to breathe, and he gasps a couple times.

And then Derek's scent invades his nose and mouth, and his breath goes shallow again.

Derek's standing closer to the bed. "It's not like being in heat. It's just...less impulse control. More animal instincts."

Stiles throws the comforter away. His claws stick a little, but he doesn't so much as look back when it falls to the floor. He comes up to Derek, head tipped so they're perfectly eye-to-eye, and bares his fangs.

"Mine," Stiles says.

With a quiet bark of a laugh, Derek half shifts. Something about it looks more natural on his face. Maybe because it makes him look more like he's scowling than it usually does.

It's Stiles's turn to laugh, and Derek's face relaxes. He lets Stiles draw the pads of his fingers over Derek's eyebrows and waits until he drops his hand to say, "My face is funny?"

"It's very you," Stiles says. He's drooling a little because of the teeth, so it sounds kind of like he's lisping. Maybe that's why it's instinct to be so monosyllabic when in that wolfy space. Either way, even though Stiles is feeling more like himself, the words don't want to come out of his mouth.

Derek grabs one of his hands and holds it gently. He has claws as well, but they seem just as natural as the super-scowly look.

"You can do whatever," he says quietly. "Or not do. I'll help either way."

Stiles squeezes back. His claws scrape Derek's hand just a little, but Derek doesn't so much as blink. "You'll tell me if you don't like it?"

"You're worried I won't?"

If it were any other guy, no. The downstairs orgasms had shown a certain level of comfort with the whole thing. But considering what Derek told Stiles...it would be a total mood killer if it came up. He sticks with, "Rather be safe, dude."

Derek nods.

Stiles shifts back to full human for a second and kisses Derek. Fangs on fangs probably isn't really comfortable, and he really wants to get a taste for this. Literally. Derek tastes a little different like this: not unfamiliar, since the sharp scent in his mouth is always there, but definitely more on one end than another. It's enough to make Stiles growl and grab Derek's hips, holding them close. If he had to guess, the taste's probably cranked to eleven when he's in heat, and god, he needs to experience that.

But he licks Derek's longer teeth and gets handfuls of Derek's ass - it feels just as good as it looked, fuck - and really, this is fine, too.

When his fangs start growing again, Stiles pushes Derek toward the bed and comes up behind him. He keeps the claws back because hey, apparently he can just do a few parts at a time, but he can feel that his face is definitely giving Derek a run for its scowling money.

Derek looks over his shoulder, eyes glowing, then gets on the bed, legs spread.

"Fuck," Stiles says.

He doesn't actually swear a lot, not talking or in his head or anything, but if there was ever a moment for a well-chosen swear word, it's definitely now. The long lines of Derek's back are illuminated by the light of the moon, and his tattoo is easier to see: a triskelion, if Stiles isn't wrong. And Derek's ass. God. Stiles can smell how wet Derek is, how much his body wants Stiles's dick, and Stiles is so hard it's almost as painful as his skin was a few minutes ago.

But he pauses before getting on the bed. "Condom?"

"I'm not in heat," Derek growls back. The tough-guy sound is ruined by how breathy the words come out. "Fuck me already."

That's enough to make Stiles shift fully back to human. Not because he wants to stop. But if Derek's going to be a pushy bastard, well, Stiles has a lifetime of experience with being pushy.

He climbs on, bouncing up to Derek on the mattress, and rubs his hands over Derek's ass. He can see Derek's dick bobbing between his legs, and sucking it would be kind of fun to try, but not now. No, now that he can smell how wet Derek is up close, he needs to get really close and personal.

He spreads Derek and licks.

"What the...fuck."

Stiles pulls back, and even though Derek isn't looking, gives his best angelic grin. "You want me to stop?"

Derek does glance over his shoulder now, scowling up a storm, but Stiles rubs his thumb over Derek's wet hole and smiles wider. It takes a few seconds - Derek really is stubborn, holy crap - but eventually, his eyes flutter shut, and he presses back into Stiles's touch.

Awesome.

Stiles goes back in and licks some more, dipping his tongue inside Derek. It does seem like the sharp edge to Derek's scent is something omegaish because there's nothing else here. Stiles groans and flattens his hips against the mattress for a second - it's so good, he doesn't want it to be over yet - but he draws back and goes into half form again.

"Mine," he says for the second time, and climbs over Derek's back. He's mounting him. Fuck. He needs to be inside right the fuck now, and judging by the way Derek arches back up, it's mutual.

"Yours," Derek says, low and growling.

Stiles guides his dick in, and it slides like it's nothing, but god. Derek is tight. And even though he's obviously bearing down as Stiles goes in, the way he clenches when he's full up is enough for Stiles to see white behind his eyes.

"Gonna knot you," Stiles says, jerking his hips a couple times. Not because he's trying it, even though he is. He just has to do it. "Going to tie you to me, fill you even more."

Derek scrambles for something - a leather pillow, it looks like - and digs his claws in, groaning.

Stiles leans over, licks his tattoo, and then nips lightly at the back of Derek's neck. It pushes him as deep as he can, and after that, rhythm is absolutely impossible. Which is totally for the best, since Stiles's knot is growing and he can only move so much. He's never felt anything like it, the way his knot fills and makes Derek even tighter, the way Derek's hole gets wetter in response to the pressure on the spot inside.

Derek starts jerking himself off, and he comes in about five seconds. If Stiles wasn't a split second from filling Derek up with come, he'd do another victory fist. Hair-trigger teenager, his ass. Or Derek's.

Somehow, that's the thing that tips him over the edge. If coming with Derek twice downstairs hadn't been amazing enough, it feels like he shoots for hours, mixing his jizz with Derek's wetness, making Derek his inside and out. Stiles can barely maintain the control to keep his hands on Derek's hips, claws biting in just a little, instead of flopping all of his weight onto Derek.

But finally, his dick decides it's had enough, and Stiles sags.

"Wow," he says.

Derek grunts quietly in reply. He pushes behind him at Stiles, and Stiles is more than happy to tip over onto the bed. He's still tied to Derek - god, he can't believe it - so he rests his head on Derek's shoulder and rubs his stomach, spreading Derek's come around.

"Good?" he asks.

There's no answer for a second. When Derek does finally say, "Yeah," the word is incredulous.

"Screw you," Stiles says, but again, he yawns. "I mean, again. We can do that again, right?"

Derek coughs. It sounds like it's covering a laugh. "You're probably going to be out until tomorrow morning. I was, my first time."

"Seriously?" Stiles is wide awake for a second because what the hell. Everyone had warned him for years about blah blah, losing control, blah blah, sexual promiscuity, blah blah, potential violence. And now he was going to sleep most of his full moon. Ripoff.

But Derek grabs his hand again - it's kind of great seeing both of their claws together - and says, "Three times isn't bad."

"Says...says you." Stiles grins even around his yawn. Quality and quantity. Maybe they do have a chance.

He drifts, and judging by the quiet yawn Derek gives right before he drops off, he's right there behind him. Just where he should be.