fic: all the things I deserve
Author: froggydarren
Title: all the things I deserve
Rating: Explicit
Pairing/s: Derek/Stiles
Character/s: Stiles, Derek
Summary: There was a witch, and a spell, and Stiles got to deal with the full weight of it. He knows it's temporary, and once the panic and anger ease off, he's more than willing to explore how the newly acquired parts of his body work. And maybe he's not actively looking for volunteers, but there's no universe in which he'd turn Derek down if there was even the slightest hint of a chance.
Warnings: sex swap (due to spell)
Content Notes: Stiles has a female body from the neck down, otherwise he's still him. AU - Stiles is 18, Derek's pack is intact and alive, and Stiles has zero dating experience.
Submission Type: fic
Word Count: 4374
Prompt: #247 - innocent
Author's Notes: Okay so I had this thing sitting in my drafts for a while, unfinished and in need of severe editing. It's a fill for a kink prompt meme I did for myself, to get more comfortable writing smut. Then I realised that it fits this week's theme, edited it, and *jazz hands* fic. So yeah, PWP with a teeny hint of feelings. Only self-betaed, so apologies for errors. *ducks out and goes to hide* (look, I don't normally post smutty stuff, now excuse me *hides again*
(PS: title from Shakira's Underneath Your Clothes. Seemed fitting.)
It all started with a witch in the woods, one who thinks it’s fun to mess with people’s bodies to “teach them a lesson”. Stiles has yet to find out what the lesson is he’s supposed to be learning from having been given female biological parts, but he’s kind of past trying to figure it out. He did freak out for a while, but it didn’t last long, and then curiosity won over.
While he’s lacking experience, Stiles has never been one for shying away from theoretical knowledge. It’s only natural that just as much as he explored the sexual drive that his body had since he reached puberty, he immediately gets interested in what his body can do now, when the parts are different.
With the help of Deaton and some information from deep in Peter’s collection of supernatural facts, Stiles knows that he doesn’t have long to enjoy his current body before the spell wears off and he has his usual one back. It all comes to a head one night when he decides to wear something other than his usual clothes.
-
The dress Stiles is wearing is shorter than he's used to, barely covering his ass as a light breeze makes it flutter around his thighs. It’s sleeveless, but he has a cardigan over it now that it’s gotten late and the temperatures have dropped. Still, he's warm from the day in the sun, and the cooling air rises goosebumps on his skin as he's sitting on the bench. His legs are bent and feet tucked underneath him, and he wraps the cardigan around tighter. It’s not to keep warm, he doesn’t need that, but he's… it’s not his style to be in a dress, and while it was nice during the day because of the heat, he wishes he was back in his usual cargo pants and a T-shirt now.
Especially when he looks across the table and sees Derek. There’s something in his eyes that Stiles hasn’t seen before, or at least hasn’t noticed. The corner of Derek’s lips is a little higher on one side, and his gaze is stuck on Stiles’s like it has been since they got to the diner.
Stiles squirms, and then he watches Derek’s eyes follow the edge of the cardigan that Stiles feels slipping off his shoulder, revealing his pale skin underneath. It’s fascinating, and normally he’d be grinning, but this time the eyes trailing the movement of fabric are on him. They never have been, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. He pulls up the cardigan to cover his shoulder again, and lets his fingers tug on it while he's trying to collect his thoughts, to figure out what to say next.
He’s watching Derek’s fingers drum against the tabletop moments later, and his mind wanders. Derek’s fingers are lean but thicker than his own, and Stiles wonders how they’d feel against his skin. He saw Derek break branches in the past, just with his hands, and the strength has fascinated Stiles then, but it’s different now. Then, it was about werewolves, about where their limits were. Now, though, now he wonders if Derek would be the same with a body under those hands, or if he’d be gentle like Stiles saw him be with injured pack members. With him, that one time when he accidentally ended up in the middle of a dispute and got a few scrapes in the process.
The thought of Derek’s fingers in places Stiles has only ever had his own makes his squirm again, but not in restlessness like a while earlier. This time, he can feel his pussy clenching around nothing, and he shifts so his heel is against it. When he lets out a breath of air at the contact and slight relief, Derek’s eyes widen a little, barely visibly. Stiles only notices because he's lifted his gaze from Derek’s fingers to his face again, and his reaction makes Stiles’s cheeks heat up. Because Derek knows. There’s no doubt in his mind about that.
He knows that Stiles is getting turned on, can probably smell it from across the table, and that makes Stiles squirm more.
Nothing changes much until several minutes later when the pack decides that the meeting is over and they’re going to head home. Stiles pulls his feet from under him and gets up, a little unsteady because of how he was sitting. The breeze comes around again and he shivers, the goosebumps returning to his skin as he pulls the thin cardigan closer around himself.
“I’ll get Stiles home,” he hears Derek say, and his heart skips.
Scott gives them both a curious look, and Stiles shrugs a shoulder to act like it’s fine, like it’s no big deal that he’ll be in Derek’s car all the way to his house. Moments later, Scott’s distracted by Isaac and Allison, and Derek is staring at Stiles, eyebrow raised in expectation.
He’s surprised by the warmth of the seats in the Camaro, comfortable and unusual against the skin on the backs of his thighs when he settles into the passenger seat. It’s what keeps his mind occupied on the drive home, keeps his focus on the way his pussy is still clenching, and the way his panties are getting damp as he gets more and more turned on. Derek’s by his side of the car seconds after he parks in the driveway, and holds out his hand to help Stiles out. It’s a gesture he’d normally either dismiss as unnecessary or find ridiculously charming -- he's not above being wooed and not above allowing a helping hand. This time though, when he puts his hand into Derek’s, the thoughts about his fingers from earlier in the diner return, and Stiles’s cheeks heat up again.
When they walk towards the house, Derek’s hand still holding Stiles’s, because that’s what they’re apparently now doing, and the wind blows softly around Stiles’s legs. He shivers because the cool air hits the damp fabric between his legs, and it sends a jolt of pleasure through him. His fingers tighten around Derek’s hand for a second, but he doesn’t get a reaction other than a slight speeding up in Derek’s tempo.
“Can I come in?” Derek asks when they reach the door, and Stiles can only nod.
He opens the front door and leads him inside, then lets go of Derek’s hand as he slips out of his Converse. Derek follows, kicking off his shoes before they move towards the hallway leading to Stiles’s room. Once there, Stiles feels the awkwardness wash over him, because his mind screeches to a halt on a single thought. What now?
Derek answers that question for him without saying anything out loud. He walks closer, stops right in front of Stiles, and lifts his hand along Stiles’s side, brushing his fingers against his arm. When Derek’s palm rests on his cheek, Stiles tilts his face up, eyes wide and searching Derek’s face for intent, for a hint on what he’s going to do next.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Please,” Stiles answers without thinking.
He doesn’t get to dwell on whether he sounded desperate, because Derek’s lips are on his, and Stiles melts into the kiss. When Derek puts his other hand on Stiles’s waist and tugs him closer until Stiles’s chest is flush against his, Stiles arches into the contact, and hums when Derek’s hips do the same. There’s no mistaking the hardness that’s pressing against him, even though he's never been with a guy before. Or anyone at all, but any experience with girls wouldn’t help with the current situation. Because that’s a very hard and from what he can guess a decent-sized cock that’s now pressing against him. Their hips are at almost the same height, and Stiles shivers a little at where Derek’s cock is touching him, how close it is to where he…
He wants. He wouldn’t have said it out loud before, and can’t now, not with Derek’s lips moving gently against his, but the thought is there. It’s not just that, not just the simple wish to have something inside him. It’s only one of the things, he realizes when Derek’s fingers twitch against his cheek and his side. He wants to be touched, wants to touch Derek, and he's as much annoyed with the layers of clothing between them as he is glad that they’re there because the feeling, the urge is so foreign to him.
When he moves his own hands towards Derek’s sides it’s with hesitation. He never touched anyone this way before, so he doesn’t know where to put them, especially since he wants to touch everywhere.
Then, just as he rests his palms on Derek’s sides, Derek moves his hand from Stiles’s cheek to the back of his neck, and Stiles tilts his head back into it. Their lips part, but Derek doesn’t move away. Instead, he presses his lips to Stiles’s jaw and then leaves a trail of feather-light touches along it, moving towards the dip under Stiles’s ear. Stiles shivers when Derek rubs his nose into the skin there, and he feels another jolt of pleasure run from the spot right down to his pussy, like there’s a direct line. Derek moves his hand again, brushes his palm against Stiles’s shoulder and pushes the cardigan off. Then he dips his head down and kisses Stiles’s collarbone, and Stiles can feel the warmth of Derek’s breath against it when he pulls away a little. His fingers twitch against Derek’s waist, and Derek’s hips move again, his hard cock pressing against Stiles just above his mound.
“Fuck,” Derek lets out with a breath when his whole body shudders at the contact.
Stiles lets the word roll around his mind, lets himself imagine it, imagine Derek’s length sliding inside him. His pussy contracts again and he opens his mouth, letting out a tiny sigh at the thought.
The cardigan slides further down his arm, and Derek’s hand brushes against the exposed skin, then his fingers lace with Stiles’s when they meet. It’s enough to make Stiles lose a little balance and he steps back with one foot. It hits the bed behind him, and he drops his hands as he moves, then sits down and scoots back, tucking his legs underneath his like he did in the diner. He pulls off the cardigan completely and drops it to the side, eyes never leaving Derek’s face. When he sees the way Derek’s watching his every move, he feels another shiver run across his body, goosebumps rising on his arms and thighs. The bed dips when Derek kneels on it, and then his hand is hovering above Stiles’s thigh.
“Is this okay?” He whispers the question, not touching Stiles until he nods.
Stiles feels the heat of Derek’s palm before it makes contact with his skin, and he tenses in anticipation before it does. When his palm is resting against Stiles’s thigh, Derek moves his thumb, rubs the inside of his leg, moving towards the center, to where Stiles wants his fingers. Where he's imagined them when he touched himself since he was hit by the curse. He’s watching Derek’s face when he moves his hand up, when Stiles feels the fabric of his dress bunch up and reveal more of his legs. His clit and pussy are throbbing, and it’s only his inexperience that stops him from falling back on the bed and spreading his thighs to Derek.
Stiles wants, but he's never done any of this before, not with someone else. Especially not Derek, who’s the one in his imagination when he's doing this alone. He’s been naked, on his back, legs spread wide as his own fingers rub between his folds and over his clit until he shakes with an orgasm. But it’s always been just him, no eyes on him the way Derek’s are now roaming from where his hand is moving slowly up, over Stiles’s whole body and to his face, then back down again. Stiles is still in the dress but he feels exposed, though he's barely showing his skin.
When Derek lifts his hand to the strap of his dress and shifts it to the side, Stiles shakes his head. The layer of fabric feels like armor a little, like a small thing that he doesn’t want to give up just yet, despite his willingness to let Derek touch. Derek immediately stops, both hands freezing in place, one on Stiles’s bare shoulder, the other an inch away from the lace edge of his panties still hidden under the skirt.
“Too much?” Derek asks in a whisper, but he doesn’t pull away.
Stiles shakes his head again. “No, just… not the dress,” he whispers, hoping Derek will understand what he's thinking, what he can’t say out loud.
He hopes Derek will get that he doesn’t want him to stop, just that being seen is not within his comfort zone. Not yet.
“Okay,” Derek says quietly, and his thumb twitches against the inside of his thigh again, his palm warm on top of it.
Stiles’s pussy is still throbbing, reacting to every minute movement of Derek’s fingers and every blink of his eyelids. His hands are on the comforter, fingers digging into the fabric when he moves his hand up again. He keeps his legs together even as Derek’s fingers slip under Stiles’s skirt and trace the lace edge of his panties. Derek shifts on the bed, and his knees bump into Stiles’s, and that’s the contact that makes him move. It’s only a tiny bit, but Stiles’s own knees part a little, enough that the panties shift and Derek’s finger slips underneath the elastic. Stiles holds his breath for a moment as Derek stills, and he nods when he exhales, looking at the unspoken question written all over Derek’s face.
When Derek moves his hand, it’s toward his center, towards the damp fabric and Stiles’s sensitive folds. His other hand moves down to Stiles’s waist and his fingers spread as he molds it against his side, like he’s holding Stiles steady. Stiles wonders how Derek knows that he needs that, that his palm against Stiles’s side is what’s stopping him from falling backwards. Then, when the hand that’s on Stiles’s thigh pauses for a moment, he realizes that he's shaking, that his whole body is vibrating gently. He’s not all that surprised that he missed it, because he can still feel his heart beating fast and his pussy clenching as he's mentally willing Derek’s fingers to move down, in, on him, inside him.
He’s about to say something, anything, when Derek moves again, and pulls his fingers from underneath the panties’ edge. Stiles doesn’t have time to protest that, because a second later he has a finger tracing his folds through the damp fabric covering him. He doesn’t know when he moved his knees apart enough for Derek to do that, but he doesn’t care because Derek’s finger trails up and presses in right over his clit. The only thing Stiles can do is throw his head backwards as he breathes out and moves his arms so he's bracing himself on them, back arching. He hears Derek take in a loud breath, but his mind can’t focus on anything other than the finger that moves down again, caresses him through the panties, and his thoughts are a loop of please please please.
“Please,” he says when he strokes up again, and Derek’s hand twitches against his side. “Derek, please.”
This time, Derek doesn’t stop to ask, and Stiles hears the familiar snick of a claw coming out. Then he feels Derek’s hand moving from his folds to the side, and the claw slips under the fabric before Derek slices through it one one side, then quickly on the other. The front of Stiles’s panties falls down and he fights the urge to close his legs before he realizes that the skirt is still covering him, albeit barely.
When Derek moves his hand back, there’s no barrier between his fingers and Stiles’s folds, and Stiles clenches his hands at the first touch. His pussy and clit throb when Derek moves a finger to trace the line of his folds, and his hips twitch up when Derek rubs his clit again. He’s wet, and he feels open and exposed even though his walls are clenching together and Derek’s hand is underneath his skirt. But it’s the fact that it’s someone else’s hand there, not his own as before. It’s the fact that Derek is watching Stiles’s face for reactions as he moves, rubs, strokes, dips down to Stiles’s core and then slips back up again.
The movement is maddening, and Stiles closes his eyes finally, unable to focus on Derek’s face at the same time as his whole body reacts to the way Derek’s fingers are right where he wants them and yet… not. His hips move a fraction every time Derek brushes over his clit, his bottom lip is aching where he's digging his teeth in to stop himself from panting too loudly. The walls of his pussy clench around nothing, then relax and open up in invitation that Derek is not taking. He feels Derek’s finger dip into the slick wetness between Stiles’s folds, clenches when he skims over the opening, and his breathing stutters when the tip of one finger presses in the tiniest bit.
“Please,” he finally gasps out, so close to the edge that he wonders if he's going to fall just from speaking. “Derek…”
“What do you want, Stiles,” Derek whispers back, and he moves his thumb up, giving Stiles’s clit a rub while his fingers are still against his slick hole.
Stiles freezes, eyes closed and lip between his teeth again, fingers gripping the comforter below him. His knees are spread wide now, and he doesn’t remember opening them, doesn’t know when Derek shifted closer and pushed his own knees against the insides of Stiles’s thighs, opening him up wider. His thumb is resting against Stiles’s clit, unmoving, and his index finger is tracing the edge of his pussy but not going where Stiles wants it, in, in, inside…
“In,” he says. “Inside, please. Please.”
Derek’s thumb twitches against him again, and Stiles feels his clit throb, the walls of his pussy clench around the tip of the finger that finally moves in. He breathes in heavily, tries to find enough focus to make himself relax, to let Derek in where he wants him. Derek moves in slowly, with one finger at first, stuttering to a stop whenever Stiles’s walls wrap around him and try to pull him deeper. The hand that he has on Stiles’s side is gripping tighter, and his thumb moves from Stiles’s clit for a moment as he turns his hand. Stiles’s head falls back, baring his neck to an audible gasp from Derek’s lips, but then Derek is moving back out, and he whimpers in quiet protest.
“Shh, I’ve got you,” Derek whispers, and when he moves his hand back, there are two fingers rubbing against Stiles’s walls, stretching him.
It’s not more than he ever did himself, Derek’s two fingers as thick as three of Stiles’s own that he pressed into himself. But the angle is different, and Derek’s fingers go deeper, and they’re moving more steadily. Derek pulls them out, then presses back again, curves them so the tips rub against Stiles’s walls. Stiles can’t help but clench at each stroke out, relax at each push in. He’s wet, slicker that he's ever been, drips slipping out when Derek pulls his fingers out, sliding down onto the ripped fabric of his panties, between his asscheeks. When Derek’s fingers slip out and down for a second, Stiles freezes, then his breath catches as he takes it in when Derek rubs the skin just below his pussy, easily sliding through the slickness that seems to be everywhere. Derek pushes his fingers inside Stiles again then, and when Stiles opens his eyes in surprise at the three that are sliding in easily now, Derek’s gaze is fixed down.
He follows it and sees that his dress has scrunched enough that it’s no longer covering him, and Derek is … Derek looks mesmerized as he watches his own fingers push in. Stiles looks too, lifts himself up on his arms and bends his neck forward so he can see. Derek’s fingers are glistening with slickness, his thumb tucked in as three fingers push inside slowly. He can feel them curling up, hitting that one right spot inside Stiles that makes his hips tilt up and his walls clench around Derek’s fingers.
He looks up again when Derek hums as he pulls out, and Stiles meets his gaze, eyes wide open and biting his bottom lip to hold back a moan. Derek smirks, and he glances down again, curling his fingers as they slide back in.
Stiles’s fingers ache when he grips the comforter tighter, his hips move against Derek’s strokes, urging him in, deeper… please, Derek, please.
He doesn’t watch anymore, eyelids falling down as his whole body builds tension, as his orgasm comes closer and closer, each stroke against his G-spot sending a new wave to his clit. And then Derek’s thumb is there, rubbing circles while his fingers tap a rhythm inside Stiles but stay still, buried deep in.
“Please,” Stiles breathes out, and then he bites down hard on his lip as his hips rise and his thighs burn, his walls tight around the three fingers in his pussy, thumb circling his clit faster and faster and… “Fuck, Der… Derek,” he gasps, and then he's gone.
His body stills, back arched as he pushes his hips against Derek’s hand to pull his fingers in, to hold them there, and he feels the throbbing from his clit roll all over him, his pussy walls pulsing with his orgasm. His arms give out, and he falls backwards onto the bed, eyes clenched tight and his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. The movement makes Derek’s thumb brush against his clit and Stiles shudders from sensitivity. Derek pulls it back, but leaves his fingers inside Stiles, and Stiles wonders if he could come again if Derek kept going.
When Derek’s fingers slip slowly out, Stiles forces his eyes to open and almost instantly regrets it, because his pussy throbs at the sight of Derek sucking on the fingers that were just in him. He wonders for a beat how Derek’s mouth would feel on him, then he lifts himself up on his unsteady arms, bracing his upper body on his elbows as he finally pulls his knees up and his feet from where they were getting uncomfortable underneath his ass. Derek’s eyes widen again, fingers frozen still between his lips, as he takes in Stiles’s position -- knees up, spread open, soaked and still throbbing pussy right in front of him. He moans around the fingers in his mouth before he pulls them out, and Stiles watches his hand drop down to Derek’s crotch, where his cock is hard and straining against the zipper.
“I can…” he says quietly, nodding towards Derek’s hand.
Not that he knows what he’d do, but he's willing to try. Derek just shakes his head, and rubs his palm against his hard cock.
“‘m good,” he says, but his voice is strained, like he’s on edge.
Stiles shakes his head, and he puts his weight on one arm, lifting the other to crook his finger to beckon Derek closer. He leans forward, and he smiles as he braces himself on his arms as he shifts to be over Stiles, hips carefully away from his exposed lower half. His lips meet Stiles’s, and as they kiss, Stiles moves his free hand down, spreading his fingers when his palm touches Derek’s cock through the denim. Derek’s breath hitches at the contact, and his hips seem to try to twitch forward at the same time as he tries to pull away from Stiles’s touch.
“I can,” he whispers against his lips. “I know it’s not going away, let me, please.”
Derek kisses him again, tongue darting out to slide over Stiles’s lips, and Stiles can taste his own slick on Derek. It makes his clit throb again, his pussy clench, and his knees press against Derek’s hips, making it impossible for him to move his arm. He rubs his palm over Derek’s cock, and smiles into the kiss when he feels it pulse underneath his hand.
“I haven’t always been like this. So I know it can hurt. And I might not have touched someone else’s dick before, but I have touched my own. A lot. Before the witch happened, obviously,” Stiles rambles when Derek pulls away from the kiss to catch his breath. “I don’t want you to be a martyr. I don’t want you to hurt when I can help…”
He presses his palm against Derek, and marvels at the shudder that shakes Derek’s body. Derek is hot under Stiles’s hand, his hips are still straining to not move, and Stiles wonders if it’s because he doesn’t want to crush him.
“Stiles, I…” Derek starts, and Stiles pulls his hand away, lifting it to his shoulder to softly push at it until Derek gets his point and rolls to the side.
When he follows Derek’s movement and lies on his own side facing him, Stiles manages to fight the urge to fix his dress and cover himself up. Instead, he reaches down again, tracing the outline of Derek’s cock through the denim.
“I’ve never…” he whispers, and Derek’s eyes widen at the start of a confession. “You’ll have to show me,” he finishes the thought, and hooks a finger into the waistband of Derek’s jeans, tugging on it a little.
“I will,” Derek promises, and he tugs Stiles closer. “Later.”
Stiles can still taste himself on Derek’s tongue when their mouths come together in a kiss. His clit pulses weakly as the kiss deepens, but he makes himself relax as Derek’s arms wrap around him. They’ve got time.
Title: all the things I deserve
Rating: Explicit
Pairing/s: Derek/Stiles
Character/s: Stiles, Derek
Summary: There was a witch, and a spell, and Stiles got to deal with the full weight of it. He knows it's temporary, and once the panic and anger ease off, he's more than willing to explore how the newly acquired parts of his body work. And maybe he's not actively looking for volunteers, but there's no universe in which he'd turn Derek down if there was even the slightest hint of a chance.
Warnings: sex swap (due to spell)
Content Notes: Stiles has a female body from the neck down, otherwise he's still him. AU - Stiles is 18, Derek's pack is intact and alive, and Stiles has zero dating experience.
Submission Type: fic
Word Count: 4374
Prompt: #247 - innocent
Author's Notes: Okay so I had this thing sitting in my drafts for a while, unfinished and in need of severe editing. It's a fill for a kink prompt meme I did for myself, to get more comfortable writing smut. Then I realised that it fits this week's theme, edited it, and *jazz hands* fic. So yeah, PWP with a teeny hint of feelings. Only self-betaed, so apologies for errors. *ducks out and goes to hide* (look, I don't normally post smutty stuff, now excuse me *hides again*
(PS: title from Shakira's Underneath Your Clothes. Seemed fitting.)
It all started with a witch in the woods, one who thinks it’s fun to mess with people’s bodies to “teach them a lesson”. Stiles has yet to find out what the lesson is he’s supposed to be learning from having been given female biological parts, but he’s kind of past trying to figure it out. He did freak out for a while, but it didn’t last long, and then curiosity won over.
While he’s lacking experience, Stiles has never been one for shying away from theoretical knowledge. It’s only natural that just as much as he explored the sexual drive that his body had since he reached puberty, he immediately gets interested in what his body can do now, when the parts are different.
With the help of Deaton and some information from deep in Peter’s collection of supernatural facts, Stiles knows that he doesn’t have long to enjoy his current body before the spell wears off and he has his usual one back. It all comes to a head one night when he decides to wear something other than his usual clothes.
-
The dress Stiles is wearing is shorter than he's used to, barely covering his ass as a light breeze makes it flutter around his thighs. It’s sleeveless, but he has a cardigan over it now that it’s gotten late and the temperatures have dropped. Still, he's warm from the day in the sun, and the cooling air rises goosebumps on his skin as he's sitting on the bench. His legs are bent and feet tucked underneath him, and he wraps the cardigan around tighter. It’s not to keep warm, he doesn’t need that, but he's… it’s not his style to be in a dress, and while it was nice during the day because of the heat, he wishes he was back in his usual cargo pants and a T-shirt now.
Especially when he looks across the table and sees Derek. There’s something in his eyes that Stiles hasn’t seen before, or at least hasn’t noticed. The corner of Derek’s lips is a little higher on one side, and his gaze is stuck on Stiles’s like it has been since they got to the diner.
Stiles squirms, and then he watches Derek’s eyes follow the edge of the cardigan that Stiles feels slipping off his shoulder, revealing his pale skin underneath. It’s fascinating, and normally he’d be grinning, but this time the eyes trailing the movement of fabric are on him. They never have been, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. He pulls up the cardigan to cover his shoulder again, and lets his fingers tug on it while he's trying to collect his thoughts, to figure out what to say next.
He’s watching Derek’s fingers drum against the tabletop moments later, and his mind wanders. Derek’s fingers are lean but thicker than his own, and Stiles wonders how they’d feel against his skin. He saw Derek break branches in the past, just with his hands, and the strength has fascinated Stiles then, but it’s different now. Then, it was about werewolves, about where their limits were. Now, though, now he wonders if Derek would be the same with a body under those hands, or if he’d be gentle like Stiles saw him be with injured pack members. With him, that one time when he accidentally ended up in the middle of a dispute and got a few scrapes in the process.
The thought of Derek’s fingers in places Stiles has only ever had his own makes his squirm again, but not in restlessness like a while earlier. This time, he can feel his pussy clenching around nothing, and he shifts so his heel is against it. When he lets out a breath of air at the contact and slight relief, Derek’s eyes widen a little, barely visibly. Stiles only notices because he's lifted his gaze from Derek’s fingers to his face again, and his reaction makes Stiles’s cheeks heat up. Because Derek knows. There’s no doubt in his mind about that.
He knows that Stiles is getting turned on, can probably smell it from across the table, and that makes Stiles squirm more.
Nothing changes much until several minutes later when the pack decides that the meeting is over and they’re going to head home. Stiles pulls his feet from under him and gets up, a little unsteady because of how he was sitting. The breeze comes around again and he shivers, the goosebumps returning to his skin as he pulls the thin cardigan closer around himself.
“I’ll get Stiles home,” he hears Derek say, and his heart skips.
Scott gives them both a curious look, and Stiles shrugs a shoulder to act like it’s fine, like it’s no big deal that he’ll be in Derek’s car all the way to his house. Moments later, Scott’s distracted by Isaac and Allison, and Derek is staring at Stiles, eyebrow raised in expectation.
He’s surprised by the warmth of the seats in the Camaro, comfortable and unusual against the skin on the backs of his thighs when he settles into the passenger seat. It’s what keeps his mind occupied on the drive home, keeps his focus on the way his pussy is still clenching, and the way his panties are getting damp as he gets more and more turned on. Derek’s by his side of the car seconds after he parks in the driveway, and holds out his hand to help Stiles out. It’s a gesture he’d normally either dismiss as unnecessary or find ridiculously charming -- he's not above being wooed and not above allowing a helping hand. This time though, when he puts his hand into Derek’s, the thoughts about his fingers from earlier in the diner return, and Stiles’s cheeks heat up again.
When they walk towards the house, Derek’s hand still holding Stiles’s, because that’s what they’re apparently now doing, and the wind blows softly around Stiles’s legs. He shivers because the cool air hits the damp fabric between his legs, and it sends a jolt of pleasure through him. His fingers tighten around Derek’s hand for a second, but he doesn’t get a reaction other than a slight speeding up in Derek’s tempo.
“Can I come in?” Derek asks when they reach the door, and Stiles can only nod.
He opens the front door and leads him inside, then lets go of Derek’s hand as he slips out of his Converse. Derek follows, kicking off his shoes before they move towards the hallway leading to Stiles’s room. Once there, Stiles feels the awkwardness wash over him, because his mind screeches to a halt on a single thought. What now?
Derek answers that question for him without saying anything out loud. He walks closer, stops right in front of Stiles, and lifts his hand along Stiles’s side, brushing his fingers against his arm. When Derek’s palm rests on his cheek, Stiles tilts his face up, eyes wide and searching Derek’s face for intent, for a hint on what he’s going to do next.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Please,” Stiles answers without thinking.
He doesn’t get to dwell on whether he sounded desperate, because Derek’s lips are on his, and Stiles melts into the kiss. When Derek puts his other hand on Stiles’s waist and tugs him closer until Stiles’s chest is flush against his, Stiles arches into the contact, and hums when Derek’s hips do the same. There’s no mistaking the hardness that’s pressing against him, even though he's never been with a guy before. Or anyone at all, but any experience with girls wouldn’t help with the current situation. Because that’s a very hard and from what he can guess a decent-sized cock that’s now pressing against him. Their hips are at almost the same height, and Stiles shivers a little at where Derek’s cock is touching him, how close it is to where he…
He wants. He wouldn’t have said it out loud before, and can’t now, not with Derek’s lips moving gently against his, but the thought is there. It’s not just that, not just the simple wish to have something inside him. It’s only one of the things, he realizes when Derek’s fingers twitch against his cheek and his side. He wants to be touched, wants to touch Derek, and he's as much annoyed with the layers of clothing between them as he is glad that they’re there because the feeling, the urge is so foreign to him.
When he moves his own hands towards Derek’s sides it’s with hesitation. He never touched anyone this way before, so he doesn’t know where to put them, especially since he wants to touch everywhere.
Then, just as he rests his palms on Derek’s sides, Derek moves his hand from Stiles’s cheek to the back of his neck, and Stiles tilts his head back into it. Their lips part, but Derek doesn’t move away. Instead, he presses his lips to Stiles’s jaw and then leaves a trail of feather-light touches along it, moving towards the dip under Stiles’s ear. Stiles shivers when Derek rubs his nose into the skin there, and he feels another jolt of pleasure run from the spot right down to his pussy, like there’s a direct line. Derek moves his hand again, brushes his palm against Stiles’s shoulder and pushes the cardigan off. Then he dips his head down and kisses Stiles’s collarbone, and Stiles can feel the warmth of Derek’s breath against it when he pulls away a little. His fingers twitch against Derek’s waist, and Derek’s hips move again, his hard cock pressing against Stiles just above his mound.
“Fuck,” Derek lets out with a breath when his whole body shudders at the contact.
Stiles lets the word roll around his mind, lets himself imagine it, imagine Derek’s length sliding inside him. His pussy contracts again and he opens his mouth, letting out a tiny sigh at the thought.
The cardigan slides further down his arm, and Derek’s hand brushes against the exposed skin, then his fingers lace with Stiles’s when they meet. It’s enough to make Stiles lose a little balance and he steps back with one foot. It hits the bed behind him, and he drops his hands as he moves, then sits down and scoots back, tucking his legs underneath his like he did in the diner. He pulls off the cardigan completely and drops it to the side, eyes never leaving Derek’s face. When he sees the way Derek’s watching his every move, he feels another shiver run across his body, goosebumps rising on his arms and thighs. The bed dips when Derek kneels on it, and then his hand is hovering above Stiles’s thigh.
“Is this okay?” He whispers the question, not touching Stiles until he nods.
Stiles feels the heat of Derek’s palm before it makes contact with his skin, and he tenses in anticipation before it does. When his palm is resting against Stiles’s thigh, Derek moves his thumb, rubs the inside of his leg, moving towards the center, to where Stiles wants his fingers. Where he's imagined them when he touched himself since he was hit by the curse. He’s watching Derek’s face when he moves his hand up, when Stiles feels the fabric of his dress bunch up and reveal more of his legs. His clit and pussy are throbbing, and it’s only his inexperience that stops him from falling back on the bed and spreading his thighs to Derek.
Stiles wants, but he's never done any of this before, not with someone else. Especially not Derek, who’s the one in his imagination when he's doing this alone. He’s been naked, on his back, legs spread wide as his own fingers rub between his folds and over his clit until he shakes with an orgasm. But it’s always been just him, no eyes on him the way Derek’s are now roaming from where his hand is moving slowly up, over Stiles’s whole body and to his face, then back down again. Stiles is still in the dress but he feels exposed, though he's barely showing his skin.
When Derek lifts his hand to the strap of his dress and shifts it to the side, Stiles shakes his head. The layer of fabric feels like armor a little, like a small thing that he doesn’t want to give up just yet, despite his willingness to let Derek touch. Derek immediately stops, both hands freezing in place, one on Stiles’s bare shoulder, the other an inch away from the lace edge of his panties still hidden under the skirt.
“Too much?” Derek asks in a whisper, but he doesn’t pull away.
Stiles shakes his head again. “No, just… not the dress,” he whispers, hoping Derek will understand what he's thinking, what he can’t say out loud.
He hopes Derek will get that he doesn’t want him to stop, just that being seen is not within his comfort zone. Not yet.
“Okay,” Derek says quietly, and his thumb twitches against the inside of his thigh again, his palm warm on top of it.
Stiles’s pussy is still throbbing, reacting to every minute movement of Derek’s fingers and every blink of his eyelids. His hands are on the comforter, fingers digging into the fabric when he moves his hand up again. He keeps his legs together even as Derek’s fingers slip under Stiles’s skirt and trace the lace edge of his panties. Derek shifts on the bed, and his knees bump into Stiles’s, and that’s the contact that makes him move. It’s only a tiny bit, but Stiles’s own knees part a little, enough that the panties shift and Derek’s finger slips underneath the elastic. Stiles holds his breath for a moment as Derek stills, and he nods when he exhales, looking at the unspoken question written all over Derek’s face.
When Derek moves his hand, it’s toward his center, towards the damp fabric and Stiles’s sensitive folds. His other hand moves down to Stiles’s waist and his fingers spread as he molds it against his side, like he’s holding Stiles steady. Stiles wonders how Derek knows that he needs that, that his palm against Stiles’s side is what’s stopping him from falling backwards. Then, when the hand that’s on Stiles’s thigh pauses for a moment, he realizes that he's shaking, that his whole body is vibrating gently. He’s not all that surprised that he missed it, because he can still feel his heart beating fast and his pussy clenching as he's mentally willing Derek’s fingers to move down, in, on him, inside him.
He’s about to say something, anything, when Derek moves again, and pulls his fingers from underneath the panties’ edge. Stiles doesn’t have time to protest that, because a second later he has a finger tracing his folds through the damp fabric covering him. He doesn’t know when he moved his knees apart enough for Derek to do that, but he doesn’t care because Derek’s finger trails up and presses in right over his clit. The only thing Stiles can do is throw his head backwards as he breathes out and moves his arms so he's bracing himself on them, back arching. He hears Derek take in a loud breath, but his mind can’t focus on anything other than the finger that moves down again, caresses him through the panties, and his thoughts are a loop of please please please.
“Please,” he says when he strokes up again, and Derek’s hand twitches against his side. “Derek, please.”
This time, Derek doesn’t stop to ask, and Stiles hears the familiar snick of a claw coming out. Then he feels Derek’s hand moving from his folds to the side, and the claw slips under the fabric before Derek slices through it one one side, then quickly on the other. The front of Stiles’s panties falls down and he fights the urge to close his legs before he realizes that the skirt is still covering him, albeit barely.
When Derek moves his hand back, there’s no barrier between his fingers and Stiles’s folds, and Stiles clenches his hands at the first touch. His pussy and clit throb when Derek moves a finger to trace the line of his folds, and his hips twitch up when Derek rubs his clit again. He’s wet, and he feels open and exposed even though his walls are clenching together and Derek’s hand is underneath his skirt. But it’s the fact that it’s someone else’s hand there, not his own as before. It’s the fact that Derek is watching Stiles’s face for reactions as he moves, rubs, strokes, dips down to Stiles’s core and then slips back up again.
The movement is maddening, and Stiles closes his eyes finally, unable to focus on Derek’s face at the same time as his whole body reacts to the way Derek’s fingers are right where he wants them and yet… not. His hips move a fraction every time Derek brushes over his clit, his bottom lip is aching where he's digging his teeth in to stop himself from panting too loudly. The walls of his pussy clench around nothing, then relax and open up in invitation that Derek is not taking. He feels Derek’s finger dip into the slick wetness between Stiles’s folds, clenches when he skims over the opening, and his breathing stutters when the tip of one finger presses in the tiniest bit.
“Please,” he finally gasps out, so close to the edge that he wonders if he's going to fall just from speaking. “Derek…”
“What do you want, Stiles,” Derek whispers back, and he moves his thumb up, giving Stiles’s clit a rub while his fingers are still against his slick hole.
Stiles freezes, eyes closed and lip between his teeth again, fingers gripping the comforter below him. His knees are spread wide now, and he doesn’t remember opening them, doesn’t know when Derek shifted closer and pushed his own knees against the insides of Stiles’s thighs, opening him up wider. His thumb is resting against Stiles’s clit, unmoving, and his index finger is tracing the edge of his pussy but not going where Stiles wants it, in, in, inside…
“In,” he says. “Inside, please. Please.”
Derek’s thumb twitches against him again, and Stiles feels his clit throb, the walls of his pussy clench around the tip of the finger that finally moves in. He breathes in heavily, tries to find enough focus to make himself relax, to let Derek in where he wants him. Derek moves in slowly, with one finger at first, stuttering to a stop whenever Stiles’s walls wrap around him and try to pull him deeper. The hand that he has on Stiles’s side is gripping tighter, and his thumb moves from Stiles’s clit for a moment as he turns his hand. Stiles’s head falls back, baring his neck to an audible gasp from Derek’s lips, but then Derek is moving back out, and he whimpers in quiet protest.
“Shh, I’ve got you,” Derek whispers, and when he moves his hand back, there are two fingers rubbing against Stiles’s walls, stretching him.
It’s not more than he ever did himself, Derek’s two fingers as thick as three of Stiles’s own that he pressed into himself. But the angle is different, and Derek’s fingers go deeper, and they’re moving more steadily. Derek pulls them out, then presses back again, curves them so the tips rub against Stiles’s walls. Stiles can’t help but clench at each stroke out, relax at each push in. He’s wet, slicker that he's ever been, drips slipping out when Derek pulls his fingers out, sliding down onto the ripped fabric of his panties, between his asscheeks. When Derek’s fingers slip out and down for a second, Stiles freezes, then his breath catches as he takes it in when Derek rubs the skin just below his pussy, easily sliding through the slickness that seems to be everywhere. Derek pushes his fingers inside Stiles again then, and when Stiles opens his eyes in surprise at the three that are sliding in easily now, Derek’s gaze is fixed down.
He follows it and sees that his dress has scrunched enough that it’s no longer covering him, and Derek is … Derek looks mesmerized as he watches his own fingers push in. Stiles looks too, lifts himself up on his arms and bends his neck forward so he can see. Derek’s fingers are glistening with slickness, his thumb tucked in as three fingers push inside slowly. He can feel them curling up, hitting that one right spot inside Stiles that makes his hips tilt up and his walls clench around Derek’s fingers.
He looks up again when Derek hums as he pulls out, and Stiles meets his gaze, eyes wide open and biting his bottom lip to hold back a moan. Derek smirks, and he glances down again, curling his fingers as they slide back in.
Stiles’s fingers ache when he grips the comforter tighter, his hips move against Derek’s strokes, urging him in, deeper… please, Derek, please.
He doesn’t watch anymore, eyelids falling down as his whole body builds tension, as his orgasm comes closer and closer, each stroke against his G-spot sending a new wave to his clit. And then Derek’s thumb is there, rubbing circles while his fingers tap a rhythm inside Stiles but stay still, buried deep in.
“Please,” Stiles breathes out, and then he bites down hard on his lip as his hips rise and his thighs burn, his walls tight around the three fingers in his pussy, thumb circling his clit faster and faster and… “Fuck, Der… Derek,” he gasps, and then he's gone.
His body stills, back arched as he pushes his hips against Derek’s hand to pull his fingers in, to hold them there, and he feels the throbbing from his clit roll all over him, his pussy walls pulsing with his orgasm. His arms give out, and he falls backwards onto the bed, eyes clenched tight and his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. The movement makes Derek’s thumb brush against his clit and Stiles shudders from sensitivity. Derek pulls it back, but leaves his fingers inside Stiles, and Stiles wonders if he could come again if Derek kept going.
When Derek’s fingers slip slowly out, Stiles forces his eyes to open and almost instantly regrets it, because his pussy throbs at the sight of Derek sucking on the fingers that were just in him. He wonders for a beat how Derek’s mouth would feel on him, then he lifts himself up on his unsteady arms, bracing his upper body on his elbows as he finally pulls his knees up and his feet from where they were getting uncomfortable underneath his ass. Derek’s eyes widen again, fingers frozen still between his lips, as he takes in Stiles’s position -- knees up, spread open, soaked and still throbbing pussy right in front of him. He moans around the fingers in his mouth before he pulls them out, and Stiles watches his hand drop down to Derek’s crotch, where his cock is hard and straining against the zipper.
“I can…” he says quietly, nodding towards Derek’s hand.
Not that he knows what he’d do, but he's willing to try. Derek just shakes his head, and rubs his palm against his hard cock.
“‘m good,” he says, but his voice is strained, like he’s on edge.
Stiles shakes his head, and he puts his weight on one arm, lifting the other to crook his finger to beckon Derek closer. He leans forward, and he smiles as he braces himself on his arms as he shifts to be over Stiles, hips carefully away from his exposed lower half. His lips meet Stiles’s, and as they kiss, Stiles moves his free hand down, spreading his fingers when his palm touches Derek’s cock through the denim. Derek’s breath hitches at the contact, and his hips seem to try to twitch forward at the same time as he tries to pull away from Stiles’s touch.
“I can,” he whispers against his lips. “I know it’s not going away, let me, please.”
Derek kisses him again, tongue darting out to slide over Stiles’s lips, and Stiles can taste his own slick on Derek. It makes his clit throb again, his pussy clench, and his knees press against Derek’s hips, making it impossible for him to move his arm. He rubs his palm over Derek’s cock, and smiles into the kiss when he feels it pulse underneath his hand.
“I haven’t always been like this. So I know it can hurt. And I might not have touched someone else’s dick before, but I have touched my own. A lot. Before the witch happened, obviously,” Stiles rambles when Derek pulls away from the kiss to catch his breath. “I don’t want you to be a martyr. I don’t want you to hurt when I can help…”
He presses his palm against Derek, and marvels at the shudder that shakes Derek’s body. Derek is hot under Stiles’s hand, his hips are still straining to not move, and Stiles wonders if it’s because he doesn’t want to crush him.
“Stiles, I…” Derek starts, and Stiles pulls his hand away, lifting it to his shoulder to softly push at it until Derek gets his point and rolls to the side.
When he follows Derek’s movement and lies on his own side facing him, Stiles manages to fight the urge to fix his dress and cover himself up. Instead, he reaches down again, tracing the outline of Derek’s cock through the denim.
“I’ve never…” he whispers, and Derek’s eyes widen at the start of a confession. “You’ll have to show me,” he finishes the thought, and hooks a finger into the waistband of Derek’s jeans, tugging on it a little.
“I will,” Derek promises, and he tugs Stiles closer. “Later.”
Stiles can still taste himself on Derek’s tongue when their mouths come together in a kiss. His clit pulses weakly as the kiss deepens, but he makes himself relax as Derek’s arms wrap around him. They’ve got time.