All Tangled Up (In Skin)
Sequel to The Time We Wasted We Can Get It Back
Stiles wakes up hot, with Derek wrapped around him as usual, long legs tangled with his own and a possessive arm pulling his back flush against Derek’s chest.
It’s their usual position, the one they go to sleep in, the one they wake up in and Stiles never sleeps as soundly as he does when he’s with Derek.
It’s been three weeks since Stiles got thrown against a tree, three weeks since Derek gave up trying to be the Martyr and actually did something about the sexual tension between them, three weeks spent curled around Derek most nights, well until Derek wakes him and Stiles slowly makes his way back to his dad. His dad has been giving him looks in the morning, knowing ones, but he hasn’t asked and Stiles is content to just bury his head in the sand about a repeat conversation with his dad about his feelings for Derek Hale.
There’s a pale light filtering through the thin curtains and Stiles shifts, presses back against Derek and Derek’s chest rumbles as his fingers flex against Stiles’s stomach. He feels Derek’s dick stir at the small of his back and he wants to stay here for the rest of the day, trade slow kisses and even slower hand jobs, maybe persuade Derek to actually fuck him (no, they’ve haven’t got there yet despite all of Stiles’s begging) but he’s got to get back home. Derek shifts, his hand slides lower and curls, hot and hard, around Stiles’s dick.
“Derek,” Stiles whines, pushing his hips upwards to meet Derek’s downwards stroke. “Let me up.”
“No,” Derek’s breath is hot against his neck and Stiles tries to pull out of his grasp. “Don’t make me tie you up.”
“Because that worked so well last time,” Stiles mutters as he lets himself relax back against Derek. Derek hums, presses his nose to Stiles’s skin and breathes in. “I have to get home, Derek.” Derek groans, twists his hand around Stiles’s dick and runs his thumb over the tip.
“Really?” he asks, voice low and tempting.
“Put it this way, would you rather I stayed here, or you got accused of kidnapping by the Sheriff? Remember the Sheriff? My dad? The man to whom I once accused you of murder?” Derek lets him go, regretfully, but also thankfully. His fingers close around Stiles’s wrist as Stiles goes to stand and he finds himself flat on his back staring up at Derek. “I thought we agreed on letting me go?”
“Not yet,” Derek grinds his hips down and Stiles digs his fingers into Derek’s back, scrapes along the skin. Derek hisses and Stiles arches up into him. “I want you to go home smelling like me…and sex,” Derek says, voice dark in Stiles’s ear and he presses his hips down again, wriggles a hand between them and wraps it around both of them.
“You know my dad doesn’t have a freaky sense of smell like yours,” Stiles says, arching his neck to allow Derek to press his teeth to his Adam’s apple.
“Stop talking about your dad,” Derek mutters, tongue licking at the hollow at the base of Stiles’s throat.
“Stoppi...” Derek covers Stiles’s mouth, twists his hands, and because being in the same space as Derek turns Stiles on more than it should, he comes almost embarrassingly quickly, over Derek’s hand and his stomach. Derek hums, almost happily, against Stiles’s neck and lets him go. “Wait…don’t you…” he trails off as Derek runs his fingers through the mess on his stomach almost lazily.
“No, I’m good,” he says and then shifts, lays his head on his folded arms and closes his eyes and Stiles lets himself stare for a moment. Up the length of his jaw then down his neck, across to the tattoo stark against his skin. The dip between his shoulders blades and the slight bumps of his spine under his skin, the slope downwards then the promise of a curve upwards until the sheet breaks that promise. “It’s rude to stare,” Derek mutters and Stiles looks back at his face to find one dark eye cracked open and trained on him and a small smile on his lips.
“I’m going,” Stiles says, standing and pulling on his jeans. Derek keeps his eye open and its almost too intimate the way he watches him dress, almost too much and Stiles feels a blush on his cheeks.
“I’ll see you later,” Derek mutters, and he cant hide the way his voice goes up at the end, like a question, and Stiles grins and he pulls his t-shirt over his head.
“I’ll see you later,” he confirms, contemplates kissing him one more time but he knows that he’ll never leave if he does. He grabs his backpack and is out of the door before he can rethink his decision.
…
There’s a light on in the kitchen when Stiles gets home and he curses under his breath as he cruises the jeep into his space and gets out.
He’s not ready to talk to his dad yet, not about Derek, or the reason he’s staying out until all hours of the morning. Not yet anyway. It’s still too new, and he’s still too unsure of where he stands with Derek.
The front door is open and Stiles drops his bag at the foot of the stairs and makes his way into the kitchen. His dad is at the table, files spread open in front of him and he looks tired, old all of a sudden. He glances up as Stiles leans against the frame.
“Hey kiddo,” he says and lifts his glasses high enough to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“Everything ok?” Stiles asks and his dad nods.
“Should I be asking you the same thing?” Stiles lets out a small laugh and heads for the fridge.
“Fancy some scrambled eggs?” he calls over his shoulder grabbing the carton. He straightens up and jumps when he sees his dad right behind him.
“Avoidance?”
“Just hungry, and I talk better when there’s food in front of me,” Stiles grabs a bowl and cracks a few eggs into it, looks at his dad who nods then he cracks a few more. “Have you even been to bed?” he asks and his dad empties thick black sludge from the coffee machine into the trash and sets about making coffee.
They move together with the ease of years of practice for a few minutes, the noise of the coffee machine and the cooking eggs the only noise until his dad clears his throat pointedly.
“Not done yet,” Stiles says without turning round and his dad slides a cup of coffee along the counter towards him.
The eggs are done and he scoops equal portions onto two plates and sets one down in front of his dad at the table. And only when he’s had a mouthful and a sip of coffee does he lean back and look at his dad.
“I love you Stiles,” his dad says and Stiles reels slightly from the stark honesty, “and you’re almost an adult, and what you do and who you do it with is nothing to do with me,” he says then pauses to take a sip of coffee, “but you could tell me when you’re staying out so I don’t sit here worrying what the hell idiotic plan you might have gotten yourself into,” his dad smiles slightly and Stiles mirrors it.
“Guess you noticed huh?” His dad nods and Stiles swallows another mouthful of eggs, “I…” he moves some egg around his plate then sets his fork down, “I dunno what this is dad,” he admits and the Sherriff’s face remains impassive, “so…I cant really tell you what’s going on. But telling you when I’m might be staying out? That I can do,” his dad nods, like he’s placated, at least for the moment and Stiles continues picking at his eggs.
“Do we need to have…”
“I swear to God dad, if you say ‘the talk’ I’m leaving home for good.” Stiles says around a mouthful of eggs and his dad grins, leans forward and pats his hand.
“Here if you need,” his dad mutters as he stands and takes his plate into the kitchen.
“Hey dad?” The Sherriff sticks his head round the door frame and Stiles turns in his chair and offers him a small smile, “thanks.”
…
Derek wakes later to the smell of Stiles. It’s all around him, in his hair and on his hands, he moves and the smell gets stronger.
He’s used to it know though, after weeks of Stiles just being there, he’s gotten used to waking up to the smell stuck in his nose. It’s a good smell, like rain on tarmac, a hint of wood smoke, like mate.
And that thought terrifies him more than just a little.
The kid’s (and he’s got to stop thinking of him as a kid) kind of perfect though. Yes, he talks too much, doesn’t listen, gets into more trouble than anyone Derek has ever met, including Scott, he’s messy and pushy and irritating and Derek can’t get enough.
He more than a little aware though that actually sleeping with Stiles might mean a loss of control for him, he feels himself slipping whenever Stiles comes, hot and sticky between them, or Stiles sinks to his knees and uses that mouth for something a hell of a lot more useful than talking. The wolf claws inside him, desperate to get out and mark Stiles as his own.
Stiles isn’t a wolf, no matter the dreams that sometimes wake Derek, of sinking his teeth into Stiles’s skin and having Stiles run through the wood with him. Those dreams wake him up at night, cold sweat prickling his forehead as Stiles shifts against him and presses his nose harder against Derek’s neck. But Stiles is human, and he’s fragile and Derek will not allow himself to hurt him. No matter how much he wants to sometimes.
Part of that is why he’s more than happy to touch Stiles whenever he can now, to mark him with his scent rather than his hands, or teeth, because he knows the others smell him on Stiles, and for now that’s enough.
Stiles has put his little touches all over the house, even if they’re invisible to anyone else but Derek. There’s a piece of wall paper in the living room which doesn’t line with the next piece by a millimetre, a tiny fleck of paint on one door jamb that Stiles missed, there’s a book of Stiles’s in the kitchen, lying spine up and open on the counter where Stiles had placed it last night after Derek had wrapped his arms around him from behind and pushed his hands into Stiles pants. And the smell, it hangs in almost every corner of the house, except the tunnels underneath which Stiles has refused to ever go into, but it leaks out of the floorboards whenever Derek walks, curls around him and Derek knows he’s well and truly fallen for the kid.
Derek spends the day putting finishing touches to the refurb of the house that no longer smells like death and burning. He’s fixing a squeaking shutter when he hears the familiar rumble of Stiles’s jeep. It’s late afternoon and the sun is still warm, Derek’s shirt is tucked into his back pocket and he’s hit with a wave of arousal as Stiles steps out of the jeep and catches site of him and Derek can do nothing except smile, and grip at the screwdriver in his hands even tighter than before.
Sometimes, when he picks up strong emotions from Stiles, it catches him off guard and he spends a few seconds reeling from the fact that anyone feels strongly for him, let alone this ridiculous kid with the most infectious grin. Stiles smiles, waves a brown paper bag of what Derek can only assume if Chinese food. Derek mirrors the grin and manages to uncurl his fingers from the screwdriver just before Stiles steps up into his space and leans up to kiss him. Derek pulls him close, curls one arms around Stiles and Stiles lets out a small groan as his free hand plays across Derek’s tattoo.
“Hi,” he grins as he pulls away and Derek runs his thumb across Stiles’s cheekbone in way of greeting before he takes the bag of food from him and makes his way into the house. “So…how was your day dear?” Stiles asks and Derek rolls his eyes, but drops the bag onto the counter and pulls Stiles close again.
“Shut up.”
Stiles shuts up, and lets Derek lift him onto the counter and kiss him hard.
They don’t make it to the bedroom.
…
“Don’t you have to go?” Derek asks, sometime around 3 in the morning, empty Chinese food cartons on the floor and Stiles’s body is draped over his. He feels Stiles shake his head before he lifts it and shakes it again, fingers curling against Derek’s chest.
“No,” there’s a hint of a smile on his lips and Derek trails his hand down Stiles’s spine, watches the way his eyes close briefly.
“Sherriff working nights?” Stiles shakes his head again and he opens his eyes and Derek is hit by a way of arousal and embarrassment. “Does he think you’re at Scott’s?” He asks with disapproval. He did his fair share of lying to parents when he was younger but this is the Sherriff that Stiles is lying to, the Sherriff who still looks at Derek with suspicion, the Sherriff who he needs on his side if he’s going to have any kind of lasting relationship with Stiles.
“No.”
“Usually I would be happy about your lack of talking but right now you’re freaking me out,” Derek says and Stiles grins, shifts till he’s lying on top of Derek and kisses the centre of his chest.
“We came to an…agreement,” he says, muffled against Derek’s skin and Derek cups at his face and pulls his head up.
“What sort of agreement?”
“Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell?” Stiles tries, with another grin and Derek raises an eyebrow and Stiles sighs, “as long as he knows where, and not the specifics, he’s fine.”
A wave of worry floods through Derek, the knowledge that the Sherriff knows makes him uneasy, makes this seem real when he wanted to keep it under wraps from the rest of the town for as long as possible. He didn’t want to be branded the older man who debases the town’s kids. Not that there’s been any actual debasing of course. He wanted just them for as long as possible so he didn’t have to sort through his feelings for Stiles and figure out what the hell they mean.
“You told your dad?” Stiles frowns slightly and goes to move off him.
“Of course I told my dad,” there’s a flush on Stiles’s cheeks and Derek pulls him back, spins them both until he’s got Stiles pinned underneath him and he’s overrun with emotions for the kid. He kisses him, hard, feels Stiles’s surprise until he relaxes into it and kisses back, running his hands up Derek’s back and pulling their chests together. “I told him before…you know…we even started…this,” his words are said right between them, Derek’s mouth millimetres from Stiles’s as they breathe the same air and Derek drives his hips down, slides his dick against Stiles’s.
“What is this?” Derek asks and Stiles’s fingers press into his shoulders. Derek doesn’t lift his head, just presses it to Stiles’s and drives his hips down again and Stiles curls one leg around him and pulls them closer.
“I don’t know,” he groans and Derek reaches between them and wraps his hand around both of them, thumbing over the slit in Stiles’s dick and drawing his hand down. Stiles groans again and arches his neck, his forehead sliding against Derek’s. Derek lowers his mouth to the offered skin, mouths at the pulse thumping under it and Stiles shudders beneath him.
“Me neither,” Derek replies, squeezing at the base of Stiles’s dick then drawing his hand upwards and running his thumb nail over the slit. Stiles bites off a moan and Derek stills his hand.
“Don’t stop,” Stiles breathes, his eyes open and fixed on Derek’s and Derek gets the feeling they’re talking about so much more than Derek’s hand right now.
“I wont,” He kisses Stiles, licks into his mouth and swallows his moan when Derek moves his hand again, kisses the taste of himself from earlier from Stiles’s mouth and catches Stiles’s shout as he comes, body twitching under Derek’s. Stiles keeps moving, pushing his dick into Derek’s hand, sliding it across Derek’s and the friction, Derek’s own hand, the scent of Stiles and them together almost overpowers him and he comes as Stiles whispers “good” into his mouth then bites down on his lower lip.
…
Stiles can, and will, fall asleep anywhere and at anytime and he falls asleep with Derek laid out over him like a big werewolf blanket.
He wakes though and feels the big werewolf blanket brooding somewhere on the other side of the overtly large bed (that Stiles may or may not have had a hand in getting Derek to buy). Derek’s got his back to him, shoulders tense and tattoo stark against his skin in the semi light flooding through the open curtains and Stiles shifts, and again, gives Derek time to realise he’s awake and slap his Alpha mask on like he does whenever he’s brooding about something.
It’s strange waking up and realising he doesn’t have to run back to his dad’s, in a whirlwind of panic that has Derek’s lips quirking at the corners with the effort of not laughing as he stubs yet another toe. Strange, but undeniably good, even if the brooding shoulders from across the bed are ignoring him. He reaches out a hand tentatively, lets his fingers play against the muscles of Derek’s back and Derek jumps slightly, half turns with a half smile on his lips then looks back at whatever was so fascinating to begin with. Stiles moves, gets to his knees and rests his head on Derek’s shoulder.
“What’s up, Sour Wolf?” Derek runs a hand over Stiles’s head and then stands, stretches out his shoulders until Stiles hears a pop and then he turns back to him.
“Nothing,” he smiles slightly and Stiles frowns.
“Ok I know I don’t have freaky hearing and everything but I can tell when you’re lying,” he says and Derek rolls his eyes. “You have a tell.” Derek curls a lip and places his hands on his hips.
“I do not have a tell,” he narrows his eyes but Stiles can see the amusement in them and that’s at least a start.
“Yeah, you do, it’s little, but I like to think I know you pretty well. At least as well as anyone can, although I hope I know your penis better than say…Jackson…” Stiles lets out an embarrassing squeak as Derek growls and launches himself across the bed at Stiles, pins him down into the mattress.
“Shut up Stiles.”
There’s no more brooding after that.
…
“Don’t you have work to do?” Stiles jumps slightly and Derek pushes himself off the kitchen door frame and walks towards him. Stiles swallows the ever present spike of lust that shirtless Derek Hale provokes in him and Derek’s eyes darken like they always do. Derek reaches him, doesn’t touch him but stands close enough that Stiles can feel the heat from his body and he reaches around Stiles and grabs the coffee pot, his lips twitching slightly as Stiles leans into him. Derek pours himself a coffee and takes a sip, runs his hand across Stiles’s chest as he walks past him and leans against the counter and locks his gaze with Stiles.
There’s a warmth that settles in Stiles’s chest whenever Derek looks at him like that, his heated gaze heavy on Stiles and Stiles feels his cheeks flush slightly and he clears his throat as Derek smirks at him knowingly.
“So, are you going to work today or are you staying here to piss me off?” Derek asks and Stiles hops up onto the counter, because he knows Derek hates it when he does that, and shrugs. Derek steps up to him and pushes Stiles’s thighs apart, crowds into the space between them, drops his mug onto the counter and cups at Stiles’s face.
“I hate to say it Derek but this is almost…domestic,” Stiles grins and Derek rolls his eyes, plants a quick kiss on Stiles’s lips that’s obscene in its promise of later. Stiles wonders briefly how Derek can make something almost chaste seem completely pornographic and then Derek slaps at his denim clad thigh and steps away from him.
“Go to work…and don’t think just because your dad knows you can stay here all the time,” he says, voice gruff but Stiles can here the amusement in it.
“You do realise you can’t get rid of me now?” Stiles calls after Derek’s retreating back as he grabs at his backpack and pats his pockets for his keys.
“I was afraid of that…” Derek calls back and Stiles hears the creak of the first step as Derek heads upstairs. “Go to work.”
“See you later,” Stiles calls and doesn’t wait for an answer as he heads out of the door and into his jeep, wondering when the hell he became an Alpha wolf’s boyfriend.
…
Sometimes Stiles parks his jeep far from the house, to try and sneak up on Derek, but it always back fires and Derek’s usually waiting for him and pounces on Stiles the second he walks through the door. It usually ends up with them rutting on the floor like teenagers, not that Stiles is complaining, but once he would like to have the upper hand. So he parks his jeep at home and decides to walk over. He shifts his bag higher on his shoulder and trudges through the woods until the house looms through the trees.
He walks as lightly as he can, treading softly on the ground as he reaches the steps and avoids the creaking one as he walks up to the door and grabs the handle. It sticks sometimes but Stiles yanks it quickly and it moves without a problem.
The door, thanks to Stiles’s skills with grease, doesn’t creak anymore, either and Stiles pulls it open all the way and takes a deep breath as he walks into the house. There’s faint noise from the kitchen and Stiles bites on his bottom lip as he creeps through the house towards it.
Derek’s got his back to the door, his head bent low over something and he stiffens slightly but carries on with whatever he was doing and Stiles leans against the frame to watch him for a second. The back of his neck is exposed, t-shirt old and loose on his shoulders and Stiles’s fingers itch to run them over the skin and watch the way Derek’s eyes darken.
“How was work, dear?” Derek asks suddenly, making Stiles jump guiltily. Derek turns and there’s a smirk on his face as he puts down the screwdriver in his hand and places it next to the carriage clock he’s obviously fixing.
“How do you always know it’s me?” Stiles pouts as Derek makes it over to him, curls his fingers into Stiles’s jeans and pulls him all the way into the kitchen and presses him back to the fridge.
“You smell,” Derek says, leaning forward and running his nose up the length of Stiles’s neck. Stiles shivers and clutches at Derek’s hips.
“Nice, thanks,” he mutters and Derek pushes his hands into Stiles’s t-shirt, palms almost burning hot against Stiles’s skin.
“Like us,” Derek says, “you smell like us…it’s a good smell,” Derek licks at Stiles’s throat, grazes his teeth over the skin. Derek pulls away suddenly, grabs at Stiles’s hand and pulls them over his head, curls his larger hands around Stiles’s wrists and kisses him hard, slides a thigh between Stiles’s as he licks into his mouth and Stiles cant help the embarrassing noise that escapes his throat
“What does it smell like?” He squeaks, yes squeaks, because Derek pushes one hand into the back of Stiles’s pants and squeezes at his backside, fingernails almost on the wrong side of painful as his mouth slides across Stiles’s jaw.
“Hard to explain,” Derek mutters, one long finger sliding between Stiles’s ass cheeks and dear God that’s where he’s wanted Derek for four years. Derek pulls his ear lobe into his mouth, bites down gently and pushes the finger against Stiles’s hole. There’s a hint of pressure, a small bite of pain because it’s dry and Stiles strains his hands against Derek’s strong hold. He needs to touch him, needs to feel his hot skin under his hands and sink to his knees and take Derek into his mouth. He bucks up against Derek’s hard body.
“Please Derek,” he begs and he’s not even sure what he’s begging for but Derek pulls back, pulls his hand out of Stiles’s pants, but keeps his thigh between Stiles’s and his hand clasped around his wrists. He fixes Stiles with a heavy, penetrating stare and Stiles cant help but squirm.
“What do you want Stiles?” Derek demands, fingers tightening around his wrists and he presses forward, nudges his nose against Stiles and breathes in deeply and Stiles whimpers like the pathetic teenager that he is.
“Fuck me,” the words are out of his mouth before he knows what he’s saying and Derek freezes for a second, eyes going wide and terrified but then Alpha Derek is back and his eyes flash red and he lets out a small growl as he hauls Stiles as close as he can and tries to kiss the breath out of Stiles’s body.
When he lets Stiles go he pushes slightly, steps away from him and runs a hand through his hair.
“I just worry…” he starts and Stiles frowns and runs his fingers down Derek’s forearm.
“Now would be a great time to stop being a martyr and fuck me into a mattress,” Stiles says and Derek’s lips twitch, “or the floor…a wall, I’m not adverse to the fridge or the kitchen counter either.”
“Stiles shut up,” Derek growls but there’s a hint of a smile on his face as he turns back to Stiles. “If I lose control, you can’t stop me,” he says seriously and Stiles swallows.
“I kind of figured that, I mean, look at you, look at me, its not like we’re evenly matched in the muscles department, I mean seriously, do you work out every day or something…”
“Stiles…”
“Shutting up,” Stiles clears his throat and watches Derek pace the kitchen, worry trailing behind him and Stiles frowns and takes a deep breath as he pulls his t-shirt over his head and throws it at him. Derek lets out an incredulous noise and throws the shirt onto the floor, freezes mid step when he sees Stiles go for the button on his jeans.
“What are you doing?”
“Well,” Stiles says, pulling the zipper on his jeans down slowly and keeping eye contact with Derek. Derek’s eyes keep dropping to Stiles’s hands, “I’m just getting ready for you to finish your freak out,” he says and Derek’s eyes narrow, “and then I’m thinking I could blow you in the kitchen, then we could go upstairs and you could fuck me into the mattress…sound like a plan?” Stiles pushes his jeans down, his boxers with them and swallows around the embarrassment and nerves that flutter down his throat and into his stomach. He’s not an exhibitionist, he’s not proud of his body but he feels a surge of confidence as Derek’s eyes go dark and he licks at his lips as Stiles reaches down and curls a hand around himself.
“Stiles.” It’s low, quiet, slightly pleading for Stiles to stop and at the same time carry on and Stiles draws his hand upwards, his hips chasing the friction and a soft growl rumbles from Derek’s chest.
Stiles has never really thought of himself as sexy, or sexual, sure he likes sex (or the almost sex he and Derek get up to) but what 20 year old male doesn’t like sex. Derek’s looking at him right now like he’s live porn and Stiles can’t help the blush against his cheeks, or the moan that escapes his throat as he twists his hand like Derek would.
“Do you have any idea what you look like?” It’s not said with distain, its said with an almost awe filled voice and Stiles shakes his head because no he has no idea and he can’t cope with Derek’s dark gaze right now, it’s almost too much. “Stiles, look at me.” Stiles snaps his gaze from Derek’s chest to his eyes and swallows, pulls his lip between his teeth as he keeps his hand moving slowly over his dick, “you ready for this?” Derek asks.
“Yes,” Derek’s still not touching him but he’s close enough now that Stiles can feel the heat radiating off his body and the way his jaw muscles clench.
“We’ll take it slow, I don’t want to hurt you,” Derek says quietly, reaching out and circling one of Stiles’s nipples with his index finger nail. Stiles moans.
“I’ve been waiting four years…” Stiles really has no idea how he’s talking right now, let alone how his hand is still moving and he’s not on his knees begging Derek to just fuck him already, “you think I haven’t…experimented with myself,” Derek’s growls again and snakes an arm around him, pulls them flush together and Stiles’s hand is trapped between them.
“You’ll have to show me that one day,” he says, running his nose along the side of Stiles’s neck, “God you smell so good.”
“Derek…come on,” Stiles whines, his hand trapped and motionless, all he can do is squeeze around himself and Derek licks up his throat then steps away.
“Up stairs,” he practically barks and Stiles nods, and his feet move before his brain has even caught up.
Derek stops him mid way up the stairs, pulls him back against his chest and curls his long fingers around Stiles’s dick. Stiles groans, lets his head fall back against Derek’s shoulder and pushes his hips forward. Derek’s thumb grazes over the sensitive skin and he bites down gently on Stiles’s throat.
“I didn’t mention anything about the stairs,” Stiles groans as Derek’s tongue licks at the bite and he lets of a breath that could be a laugh against Stiles’s skin.
“Move then,” he growls and Stiles reaches behind him and curls his hand around Derek’s neck.
“You might have to let me go for that to happen,” he replies, turning his head and catching Derek’s mouth as he groans into the kiss.
“No,” Derek twists his hand and Stiles digs his fingers into the back of Derek’s neck, “you’re going to come here,” he says, breath hot against Stiles’s ear and then he licks the shell of it and twists his hand again and Stiles feels his orgasm build low in his stomach, “come on Stiles,” his body seizes and he comes hard enough to see stars, over Derek’s hand, and then falls back against his solid body. Derek runs his fingers up the length of Stiles’s dick and Stiles shudders, pushes his hand away, it’s too much, too soon and Derek chuckles darkly in his ear and practically carries him up the rest of the stairs and into the bedroom.
He’s been here before, obviously. He spends most nights with Derek wrapped around him after all. The few times they don’t spend tangled together, Stiles has to pretend he doesn’t know Derek smells the frustration on him from a mile away until one of them snaps and drags the other upstairs.
So he’s been here before, with Derek looking at him hungrily and Stiles practically vibrating with need. But it’s never been with the promise of actual sex. Derek must feel the difference too because he hauls Stiles close and falls them both backwards. Stiles lands with an oomph and then a groan as Derek gets hand between them and curls it around Stiles’s dick.
“Too soon,” Stiles whines and Derek chuckles against his skin, pulls back and kisses Stiles hard, swallows his groans and protests. Derek’s hand leaves his dick, slides around his hip and down his backside, presses between his cheeks and Stiles jumps at the unfamiliar pressure.
“You sure about this?” Derek mutters, then pulls back far enough to stare down at Stiles with a piercing glare that practically has Stiles coming again, right then and there.
“Christ Derek, just…” Stiles chokes off as Derek presses his finger in harder, Stiles’s own fingers digging into Derek’s shoulders, “more.”
“Easy,” Derek pulls away completely and leans across to rifle through the drawer in his bedside cabinet. He keeps his hand on Stiles’s chest, a warm, heavy presence and then he’s back, in Stiles’s vision, with a condom packet and a small bottle of lube. Stiles’s heart jumps with nerves and Derek cocks his head to the side. “Ok?”
“Yeah fine, just…just…”
“Speak slowly and enunciate,” Derek says, his voice slightly amused as he runs his fingers up Stiles’s stomach, swirls his index finger around Stiles’s belly button.
“The suspense is kinda killing me,” Stiles says, slowly, enunciating and Derek grins wolfishly, dips his head to bite gently at Stiles ‘s collar bone and Stiles hears the click of a lid being flipped open, he’s distracted by Derek’s tongue soothing the bite, and then Derek’s finger, slick and cool, is slowly being pressed inside his body. “Oh God,” it hurts a little, but no more than when Stiles does it to himself, but the added bonus of having Derek’s tongue against his skin and his breath hot against his ear makes the stretch and burn all the more glorious.
“Ok?” Derek asks again, drawing his finger out equally slowly and Stiles can do nothing more than nod when he presses it back in.
Derek keeps that up for what seems like hours, never speeding up or slowing down, never more than one finger, occasionally he curls it inside Stiles, but its just the gently pressure that drives him mad, until he’s practically biting through his own lip.
“More,” he breathes and Derek pulls his finger out and pushes it back in, adds another and Stiles groans as it fills him. He keeps the pace slow, spreading his fingers out slightly when he’s all the way in and Stiles groans, doesn’t even have to say more before Derek is pushing a third finger in with something akin to worry etched across his face. “Oh Jesus that’s good,” Stiles moans and the worry bleeds away. Stiles is getting used to it, the burn isn’t quiet as much, its replaced with something else, a warm pleasure that starts low in his belly and then explodes when Derek pushes his fingers all the way in, explodes behind his eyes and his whole body feels like it’s on fire. “What the fuck was that?” he gasps as Derek pulls his fingers out slightly and Stiles feels like he can breathe again. Derek’s lips are quirked to the side, a dark look in his eyes as he pushes his fingers back in and Stiles arches off the bed. “Again.”
“No,” Derek growls and pulls his fingers out of Stiles’s body. Stiles whimpers pathetically, and Derek leans over him and kisses him, runs his palms over Stiles’s short hair as his tongue licks along the roof of Stiles’s mouth. Derek shifts, his dick slides against Stiles’s and Stiles wraps his legs around his waist and pulls him closer.
“Derek, come on,” Stiles whines because he needs it, he needs this, needs more and Derek’s still holding back, he can feel it in the tension in his shoulders.
“Sure?” Derek asks, pulls back and staring straight down at Stiles. Stiles shifts and Derek’s eyes close for a second and his hand twitches against Stiles’s scalp.
“Ask me that one more time and I will punch you in the face,” Stiles replies and Derek’s lips quirk at the side.
“I’d like to see you try,” he mutters, pulls back and sits across Stiles’s thighs. Derek curls his hand around himself and twists. The groans that falls from Derek’s lips is like something out of a porn film and Stiles runs his hands up Derek’s thighs, his thumbs running along the crease where his legs are bent and Derek’s eyes flash red for a second. Stiles swallows, curls his fingers around Derek’s and Derek lets him draw their hands upwards, Stiles’s thumb brushing over the tip of Derek’s dick. Derek’s hips surge forward, a small growl rumbling through him and then he shakes Stiles’s hand off and reaches to the side for the condom.
It’s almost mesmeric, watching Derek roll it on, and Stiles has to drag his eyes from Derek’s dick to his face when Derek finishes. He shifts back, runs his hands across Stiles’s thighs, down to his knees and pushes his legs apart until he’s spread open and its almost embarrassing. Derek’s gaze though, heavy and hot, is enough to make Stiles feel comfortable and spread his legs just that little bit wider. He watches Derek’s throat bob as he swallows and then Derek curls a hand around Stiles’s ankle and lifts his leg. His fingers trail over Stiles’s skin as he wraps Stiles’s leg around him, fingernails scratching slightly and then Derek’s pressing forward, leaning down, arms shaking, his dick pushing slightly at Stiles’s hole. Stiles tenses and Derek nudges his nose against Stiles’s. “Relax,” he mutters, then pushes in.
It hurts more than Stiles would have thought, but it’s a good pain, one edge with lust and desire as Derek presses his forehead to Stiles’s and breathes in deeply. Stiles’s fingers slip and slide against Derek’s shoulders as Derek pushes all the way in and the pain peaks and then bleeds away as Derek breathes against his neck.
Derek’s arms are shaking as Stiles runs his hands down them and Derek lifts his head enough to look at him.
“Ok?” he asks and Stiles shifts experimentally, tenses his muscles inside and Derek growls.
“You going to move any time soon?” Stiles asks and Derek shifts, straightens his arms, his hands pressed into the mattress by Stiles’s head, and slowly pulls out.
“How’s that for moving?” Derek asks, eyes glinting slightly and Stiles wraps his other leg around him and arches his hips upwards, the slide of Derek inside getting easier now.
“More,” Stiles breathes and Derek pushes back in, all the way and grunts as Stiles tenses around him again. “Fuck.”
“Jesus Stiles,” Derek sounds miles away and Stiles tangles his fingers into Derek’s hair, “feel so good,” he draws out, almost completely, “tight,” pushes back in, hard, and hits that same spot inside Stiles.
Derek sets a slow pace, slow but deep, pressing the head of his dick to that spot every time he pushes all the way in and in 5 minutes, maybe an hour, Stiles loses track of time, Stiles is almost completely insane with the need for Derek to do something other that fuck him slowly.
“Derek, come on, please,” he mutters and Derek shifts, gets an arm under Stiles and manoeuvres them till Stiles is straddled over Derek’s lap, without Derek sliding out of his body. The change in angle pushes Derek in deeper but its lets Stiles move as he wants, even as Derek’s dick hits that spot inside him with every thrust.
It doesn’t take long for Stiles to feel something build in his stomach, his thighs burning from the movement, and Derek reaches between them, curls his fingers around Stiles’s dick and runs his thumb nail over the slit. “Come on Stiles,” he mutters, running a hand up Stiles’s spine and pulling him close, kissing him hard as he twists his hand and drives his hips upwards and Stiles comes, crying out into Derek’s mouth as Derek growls back into his. And then the world moves whilst Stiles is still trying to get his breath back, and he finds himself flat on his back staring up at Derek whose eyes have gone red. It should be terrifying, it should makes him fight Derek, try to push him off and run away but he lifts his hand and runs his fingers through Derek’s hair as Derek fucks into his body hard. Derek closes his eyes, leans into Stiles’s touch and lifts one of his legs higher, pushes in deeper, once, twice and then comes, with Stiles’s name on his lip and then bites down on Stiles’s bottom lip.
Derek starts to get heavy after a while, his head pressed to Stiles’s shoulder and Stiles runs his fingers down Derek’s spine and clenches his muscles around Derek’s dick.
“You know you’re kinda heavy,” Stiles mutters and Derek huffs out something, lifts his head and the red in his eyes bleeds away. He pets at Stiles’s short hair for a second, runs a thumb over Stiles’s lower lip as he shifts and pulls out with a slick noise and a grimace from Stiles. Stiles stretches, groans as his muscles protest and there’s a dull ache where he’s never felt before and Derek looks slightly worried. “I’m fine,” he sighs and Derek raises an eyebrow. “Ok, kind of more than fine…great…awesome…am…”
“Stiles, shut up,” Derek growls, but there’s a laugh in his eyes and he trails his hand down Stiles’s leg as he sits up and turns away. There’s a noise of latex against skin and then a dull thud as the obviously used condom hits the floor then Derek is back, lying down next to Stiles and gathering him in close. Derek presses his nose to the side of Stiles’s neck and breathes in.
“Smell the same as before?” he asks and he feels Derek shake his head.
“Better.”
…
Stiles wakes up hot, again, legs tangled with Derek and he shifts, grimaces as his muscles protest again. Derek mutters something, huffs it out against Stiles’s neck and shifts, presses his hips closer to Stiles and Stiles feels his dick stir between them.
He’s woken up like this before, turned on and horny, sometimes even with Derek’s hand around him, but it’s different now, better somehow, knowing that he could just ask Derek to fuck him, or perhaps, if he was brave enough, bring Derek to the brink and sink down on him without waking him.
Derek stirs again, moans quietly, shifts his hips and Stiles suppresses the desire to rut up against his thigh like a horny teenager.
“You’re insatiable,” Derek mutters and Stiles laughs. Derek nips at his throat and then lifts his head. Although Stiles would never say it to his face, Derek looks almost adorable when he’s just woken up, his hair sticks up in all different angles, and there are more often than not pillow lines on his face that make him seem younger, more care free, less burdened with the pack and everything that brings.
“Not my fault,” Stiles replies, shifting his own hips into Derek’s. Derek growls softly, Kisses Stiles hard and sends him home smelling of sex with a few new love bites on his neck.
…
“Morning kiddo,” Stiles jumps as his dad walks into the kitchen looking freshly showered when Stiles himself feels like he hasn’t washed for a week, his skin feels sticky and his hands smell like Derek., “good night?”
“Yes thank you,” Stiles answers warily as his dad pours himself a mug of coffee.
“You stay at Derek’s?” his dad leans against the counter and fixes Stiles with his ‘tell me everything’ stare.
“Ok, we’re doing this once and once only,” Stiles takes a deep breath, “yes we had sex, yes we were careful, and no, he’s not coming over for dinner,” he pauses and takes a sip of his own coffee, “ever.” His dad cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes slightly.
“Do you love…him?” Stiles can’t help but notice the way his dad pauses on him. To be honest it took Stiles himself long enough to come to terms with the fact that he had a big Derek hard on, he can’t really expect his father to come around in a couple of months, when all he probably wanted was for Stiles to marry a nice curvy lady who smelt like roses and cookies and have a few fat children and stay in Beacon Hills forever. Instead he’s shacking up with a tall, dark, mysterious man who he once accused of murder. He can see the problem. Although it still smarts a little that he still has to justify this to his dad.
“You wish it wasn’t a man?” He asks, more than a little accusation in his voice, he can’t help it. His dad sighs, and sits down at the table next to him.
“I wish it wasn’t a man you once accused of murder,” he answers, a quirk at the corner of his lips makes Stiles’s anger seep out slowly.
“I told you…” he starts and his dad pats his shoulder.
“Yeah I know, big misunderstanding, Scott’s fault,” his hand stills on his shoulder and he squeezes gently, “Stiles, I don’t care if it’s a man, woman or…a freaking mountain lion…” Stiles makes a face of confused disgust, “actually I do care about the mountain lion, but man or woman or something in between, you’re happy, I’m happy. You are happy?”
“Yeah dad, I am,” he answers straight away because he doesn’t even have to think about it. Derek is confusing and still more than a little moody on occasions, but he lets Stiles talk when he needs to without telling him to shut up (most of the time anyway), he’s fiercely loyal in a way that kinda scares Stiles, he understands when Stiles gets maudlin about his mom and says nothing, just holds him close. He’s never been more turned on, confused, frustrated or content than when he’s with Derek.
Stiles has never been happier.
“Good. Your mom was better at this sort of thing,” his dad says and Stiles hates the look his dad gets whenever he talks about his mom, the sad, lost look that he wore for the first year after she died.
“Mom was better at dealing with her son coming out?” he asks with a grin and his dad’s face lifts, “I don’t think she had any experience with that,” Stiles shakes his head and his dad stands, cuffs him round the back of the head but then strokes it once.
“You know what I mean, wise ass,” his dad smiles, the soft, gentle smile that has everyone eating out of Sherriff Stillinski’s hand.
“Yeah I know what you mean,” Stiles answers and his did pats his shoulder once more, grabs his badge and shoves his gun into its holster.
“Go take a shower would you,” he shouts over his shoulder, “you smell.” Stiles is too preoccupied with wanting the world to swallow him whole to hear his dad’s chuckle before he slams the front door.
…
There’s a certain stillness to the library that Stiles loves, the hushed sounds of whispers and the soft almost crack of pages turning, echoing off the ceiling. It’s relaxing, makes Stiles’s mind stop whirring for once, and now that he thinks about it, it didn’t whir once last night with Derek buried deep inside his body.
Stiles feels the blush creep over his cheeks and checks down the stall he’s currently hiding behind to make sure no mind readers are watching him. You never know. Once satisfied, he crosses his legs under him and pulls out a copy of Myth’s and Legends. It’s pages are well thumbed, mostly by Stiles, but he likes reading it, turning the pages and running his fingers over the pictures of the creatures he now knows for sure exist. He’s halfway through tracing a werewolf with his index finger and wondering what Derek is up to when a voice in his ear makes him jump.
“Surely you of all people know all there is to know about werewolves,” the voice is accompanied by fiery red hair and a mile wide grin, “including their mating habits.”
“Lyds, what are you doing here,” he holds out a hand and Lydia rolls her eyes but hauls him to his feet.
“Thought I’d come home for a few days, got a break in classes so,” she shrugs and then grabs his arm, “now tell me everything and leave nothing out because I can smell Derek on you a mile away,” Stiles blushes again and she tugs him over towards the exit, “oh, and you’re buying me lunch.”
…
Stiles chokes on a mouthful of milkshake when Lydia cocks her head to the side halfway through lunch and says in her I know everything voice “you’re in love with him.”
“What? No, I…I mean, I like him, a lot, but love? I…” he stammers and Lydia arches an impeccably shaped eyebrow over one eye.
“Well I’ve seen the way he looks at you, moron, so figure it out cos I can tell you, not from personal experience of course, but a heartbroken Alpha is no fun,” she tosses her hair over her shoulder and pops another fry into her mouth. She draws glances, some long, some passing, from the passers-by as she licks the salt from her fingers. “He’s totally in love with you,” she finishes and then takes a sip of her Diet Coke, “I mean so much so that it’s almost embarrassing.”
Stiles bites on his bottom lip.
“Lyds,” he shakes his head because really Derek is possibly the best looking person he has ever seen, and Stiles? Well Stiles is average, and annoying and he talks too much.
“Do I have to remind you how many times I am right? And how many times you are wrong?” She points a fry at him and he shakes his head at her menacing expression. Lydia can still be scary, even years after leaving High School, she’s never lost that ability to make someone quake in their boots with one glare. She hasn’t lost the ability to reduce Stiles to a gibbering wreck either.
“No, fine. You’re right, I’m wrong,” he sulks and Lydia smiles, pushes her fries across the small table to Stiles and twirls a lock of hair around her finger.
“And the world is right again,” she says with a grin.
…
Lydia kisses his cheek then gives it a friendly slap as she leaves.
“Tell him,” she says and then screeches off in her brand new Audi. And Stiles is left wondering why he’s so terrified of telling him in the first place.
Sure Derek’s an Alpha Werewolf, he could easily rip Stiles’s throat out with his teeth if he felt so inclined. But he also looked at Stiles last night like Stiles was special, and not in the Special Ed kind of way that a lot of people used to look at him like. He was worried about Stiles. And the thought of losing Derek makes Stiles’s blood run cold.
He spends the rest of the day going through scenarios in his head.
Hey Derek, so…I love you, lets have puppies…
Wanna get Civil Partnered up?
I like sex, you like sex, lets just keep having sex…
And his personal favourite…
You and me baby aint nothing but mammals, so lets do it like they do on the Discovery Channel...
Stiles is pretty screwed. He’s never really been good with words, and for someone who uses a hell of a lot of them, that’s saying something. But they trip out of his mouth and he finds it hard to say exactly what he wants in just a few short words. Why use three words when he can use 30, right?
He pulls his jeep, still going strong after all these years and despite Peter Hale’s attempt to kill that too, into the driveway in front of his house and nearly dies at the sight of Derek’s car parked outside, right next to his dad’s.
“Shit,” he clambers out of the jeep, trips over his seat belt and stumbles. He’s imagining all sorts of scenes when he opens the door. His dad with his shotgun trained at a fully wolfed out Derek high of the list of possible scenarios. What he’s not expecting is the deep throated, no question about it, Derek laugh that floats from the kitchen into the hallway, and its not a ‘I just ripped your throat out’ laugh, it’s a ‘you’re really amusing’ laugh. He’s not expecting his dad’s answering laugh either, or the clink of glass against glass and then the sound of liquid.
His dad and his werewolf boyfriend are sharing drinks and jokes in the kitchen. Stiles’s life couldn’t really get more surreal.
His dad’s laugh trails off and he sighs the sigh that Stiles knows means he’s going to say something threatening. Stiles grimaces, ready to launch himself into the kitchen in Derek’s defence.
“You hurt my son, I will kill you,” his dad says and Stiles drops his head into his hand.
There’s a moment of silence where Stile can imagine Derek’s heavy gaze and wonders if his dad is oblivious to the supernatural aura around Derek or not.
“I love your son,” he says that likes his answer, like that makes everything ok and Stiles feels his eyes widen to the point that they almost fall out of his head, “even though he’d make a terrible spy.”
“Stiles,” his dad calls and Stiles pushes the door open with a grimace, “how did you know he was here?” his dad looks at Derek.
“I recognise the sound of his death trap of a jeep a mile away,” Derek says, but he’s looking at Siles, with one eyebrow slightly raised and Stiles knows that it’s because he smelled him. The thought makes heat pool in his belly as he remembers Derek’s sweat slick skin under his hands as he pushes deep inside Stiles’s body. “How was lunch with Lydia?”
“You love me?” he says like an idiot, ignoring the fact that Derek knew Lydia was around and that sometimes his sense of smell freaks Stiles out. His dad clears his throat awkwardly. Derek narrows his eyes in the way he does when he’s trying not to smile.
“It took you this long to figure it out?” He asks and Stiles stalks across the kitchen and Derek meets him half way, his hands cupping at Stiles’s face, thumbs running over his cheekbones.
“I’m going to…go…somewhere else,” his dad rubs the back of his head then disappears but Stiles doesn’t even take his eyes off Derek.
“You love me,” Stiles says again and Derek rolls his eyes.
“I have no idea why but yes,” he runs his palm over Stiles’s buzz cut and Stiles practically purrs, leaning into the touch like he always does.
“Lydia told me you did,” he mutters and Derek’s hand stops at the back of his neck, squeezes gently, nails digging in slightly and Stiles’s groans quietly.
“Did she?” Derek asks, amusement evident in his voice about how Stiles is behaving like a kitten having its belly scratched. “I might have to remind her that her Alpha doesn’t like meddlers,”
“No, don’t…” Stiles stops as Derek slides his hand down Stiles’s face, presses his thumb into the soft skin under his chin and tips Stiles’s head back. He kisses at Stiles’s chin, “me too, by the way,” Stiles mutters as Derek’s stubble grazes his skin.
“You too what?” his voice rumbles against Stiles’s throat, and he scrapes his teeth gently across is.
“Love you,” Stiles says, and its surprisingly not as difficult to say out loud as he thought it would be. Derek’s fingers twitch against his skin and then Stiles feels his smile against his neck.
“I know,” he mutters, then presses his lips briefly to Stiles’s pulse and lifts his head. There’s a smile on his lips, just a hint, but Stiles can read it loud and clear in his eyes.
“Could you smell it on me?” Stiles asks with a grin, “pick up some freaky love scent that I put out or something?” Derek’s face breaks out into a stupidly fond smile and he shakes his head, nudges his nose against Stiles’s.
“Stiles, shut up,” he mutters, darts his tongue out to lick at his lips and it brushes along Stiles’s. Stiles lets out an embarrassing noise that he will deny to his dying day.
“Make me,” he replies and Derek does just that.
…
Stiles wakes up cold, his usual werewolf blanket missing, the powerful legs that are usually wrapped around his own are gone and he stretches and hears the sounds of domesticity from downstairs, clinks of mugs and the faint whirring of the coffee machine. His dad bites out a laugh and Stiles smiles to himself sleepily, stretches again and manages to haul himself out of bed, pull a t-shirt over his head and stumble down the stairs.
Derek’s leaning up against the kitchen counter with his dad working around him. It looks easy, to an outsider, one who doesn’t know the subtle differences in his favourite people’s body language. There’s still a very slight air of unease about them, but that’s fine, they’re both trying. His dad knows that Derek loves Stiles, and Derek knows that the Sherriff is only trying to protect his only son. The seem to have a mutual respect for each other but Stiles isn’t expecting play dates between them any time soon. As long as they aren’t threatening to kill each other Stiles is happy.
Derek turns, flashes him a brief smile that’s brilliant in it’s simplicity. His hands wrap around his coffee mug and he accepts the kiss that Stiles presses to his cheek.
“Morning,” Stiles mutters and Derek lets his lips quirk in a half smile as he listens to something his dad is saying. His dad, without the freaky werewolf hearing hasn’t realised he’s there yet and Stiles snuggles into Derek’s side and steals his mug from his hands.
“And that’s when I turned around and said…Stiles,” his dad looks surprised and Derek flinches slightly at his side, tries to step away but Stiles snakes an arm around his waist and keeps him still.
“Morning,” Stiles says brightly and his dad smiles, gestures to the table with the frying pan currently in his hands.
“Sit,” Stiles doesn’t have to be told twice, his dad makes great eggs.
If someone was to ask Stiles if he would be sitting with his dad and Derek on a Saturday morning eating eggs and pressing his thigh to Derek’s under the table a few months ago he would have laughed in their face.
But he has to admit, its probably the best place to be right now.
Derek’s hand lands on his thigh and he squeezes gently, love you.
Stiles throws him a brief smile around a mouthful of eggs, you too.
Stiles wakes up hot, with Derek wrapped around him as usual, long legs tangled with his own and a possessive arm pulling his back flush against Derek’s chest.
It’s their usual position, the one they go to sleep in, the one they wake up in and Stiles never sleeps as soundly as he does when he’s with Derek.
It’s been three weeks since Stiles got thrown against a tree, three weeks since Derek gave up trying to be the Martyr and actually did something about the sexual tension between them, three weeks spent curled around Derek most nights, well until Derek wakes him and Stiles slowly makes his way back to his dad. His dad has been giving him looks in the morning, knowing ones, but he hasn’t asked and Stiles is content to just bury his head in the sand about a repeat conversation with his dad about his feelings for Derek Hale.
There’s a pale light filtering through the thin curtains and Stiles shifts, presses back against Derek and Derek’s chest rumbles as his fingers flex against Stiles’s stomach. He feels Derek’s dick stir at the small of his back and he wants to stay here for the rest of the day, trade slow kisses and even slower hand jobs, maybe persuade Derek to actually fuck him (no, they’ve haven’t got there yet despite all of Stiles’s begging) but he’s got to get back home. Derek shifts, his hand slides lower and curls, hot and hard, around Stiles’s dick.
“Derek,” Stiles whines, pushing his hips upwards to meet Derek’s downwards stroke. “Let me up.”
“No,” Derek’s breath is hot against his neck and Stiles tries to pull out of his grasp. “Don’t make me tie you up.”
“Because that worked so well last time,” Stiles mutters as he lets himself relax back against Derek. Derek hums, presses his nose to Stiles’s skin and breathes in. “I have to get home, Derek.” Derek groans, twists his hand around Stiles’s dick and runs his thumb over the tip.
“Really?” he asks, voice low and tempting.
“Put it this way, would you rather I stayed here, or you got accused of kidnapping by the Sheriff? Remember the Sheriff? My dad? The man to whom I once accused you of murder?” Derek lets him go, regretfully, but also thankfully. His fingers close around Stiles’s wrist as Stiles goes to stand and he finds himself flat on his back staring up at Derek. “I thought we agreed on letting me go?”
“Not yet,” Derek grinds his hips down and Stiles digs his fingers into Derek’s back, scrapes along the skin. Derek hisses and Stiles arches up into him. “I want you to go home smelling like me…and sex,” Derek says, voice dark in Stiles’s ear and he presses his hips down again, wriggles a hand between them and wraps it around both of them.
“You know my dad doesn’t have a freaky sense of smell like yours,” Stiles says, arching his neck to allow Derek to press his teeth to his Adam’s apple.
“Stop talking about your dad,” Derek mutters, tongue licking at the hollow at the base of Stiles’s throat.
“Stoppi...” Derek covers Stiles’s mouth, twists his hands, and because being in the same space as Derek turns Stiles on more than it should, he comes almost embarrassingly quickly, over Derek’s hand and his stomach. Derek hums, almost happily, against Stiles’s neck and lets him go. “Wait…don’t you…” he trails off as Derek runs his fingers through the mess on his stomach almost lazily.
“No, I’m good,” he says and then shifts, lays his head on his folded arms and closes his eyes and Stiles lets himself stare for a moment. Up the length of his jaw then down his neck, across to the tattoo stark against his skin. The dip between his shoulders blades and the slight bumps of his spine under his skin, the slope downwards then the promise of a curve upwards until the sheet breaks that promise. “It’s rude to stare,” Derek mutters and Stiles looks back at his face to find one dark eye cracked open and trained on him and a small smile on his lips.
“I’m going,” Stiles says, standing and pulling on his jeans. Derek keeps his eye open and its almost too intimate the way he watches him dress, almost too much and Stiles feels a blush on his cheeks.
“I’ll see you later,” Derek mutters, and he cant hide the way his voice goes up at the end, like a question, and Stiles grins and he pulls his t-shirt over his head.
“I’ll see you later,” he confirms, contemplates kissing him one more time but he knows that he’ll never leave if he does. He grabs his backpack and is out of the door before he can rethink his decision.
…
There’s a light on in the kitchen when Stiles gets home and he curses under his breath as he cruises the jeep into his space and gets out.
He’s not ready to talk to his dad yet, not about Derek, or the reason he’s staying out until all hours of the morning. Not yet anyway. It’s still too new, and he’s still too unsure of where he stands with Derek.
The front door is open and Stiles drops his bag at the foot of the stairs and makes his way into the kitchen. His dad is at the table, files spread open in front of him and he looks tired, old all of a sudden. He glances up as Stiles leans against the frame.
“Hey kiddo,” he says and lifts his glasses high enough to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“Everything ok?” Stiles asks and his dad nods.
“Should I be asking you the same thing?” Stiles lets out a small laugh and heads for the fridge.
“Fancy some scrambled eggs?” he calls over his shoulder grabbing the carton. He straightens up and jumps when he sees his dad right behind him.
“Avoidance?”
“Just hungry, and I talk better when there’s food in front of me,” Stiles grabs a bowl and cracks a few eggs into it, looks at his dad who nods then he cracks a few more. “Have you even been to bed?” he asks and his dad empties thick black sludge from the coffee machine into the trash and sets about making coffee.
They move together with the ease of years of practice for a few minutes, the noise of the coffee machine and the cooking eggs the only noise until his dad clears his throat pointedly.
“Not done yet,” Stiles says without turning round and his dad slides a cup of coffee along the counter towards him.
The eggs are done and he scoops equal portions onto two plates and sets one down in front of his dad at the table. And only when he’s had a mouthful and a sip of coffee does he lean back and look at his dad.
“I love you Stiles,” his dad says and Stiles reels slightly from the stark honesty, “and you’re almost an adult, and what you do and who you do it with is nothing to do with me,” he says then pauses to take a sip of coffee, “but you could tell me when you’re staying out so I don’t sit here worrying what the hell idiotic plan you might have gotten yourself into,” his dad smiles slightly and Stiles mirrors it.
“Guess you noticed huh?” His dad nods and Stiles swallows another mouthful of eggs, “I…” he moves some egg around his plate then sets his fork down, “I dunno what this is dad,” he admits and the Sherriff’s face remains impassive, “so…I cant really tell you what’s going on. But telling you when I’m might be staying out? That I can do,” his dad nods, like he’s placated, at least for the moment and Stiles continues picking at his eggs.
“Do we need to have…”
“I swear to God dad, if you say ‘the talk’ I’m leaving home for good.” Stiles says around a mouthful of eggs and his dad grins, leans forward and pats his hand.
“Here if you need,” his dad mutters as he stands and takes his plate into the kitchen.
“Hey dad?” The Sherriff sticks his head round the door frame and Stiles turns in his chair and offers him a small smile, “thanks.”
…
Derek wakes later to the smell of Stiles. It’s all around him, in his hair and on his hands, he moves and the smell gets stronger.
He’s used to it know though, after weeks of Stiles just being there, he’s gotten used to waking up to the smell stuck in his nose. It’s a good smell, like rain on tarmac, a hint of wood smoke, like mate.
And that thought terrifies him more than just a little.
The kid’s (and he’s got to stop thinking of him as a kid) kind of perfect though. Yes, he talks too much, doesn’t listen, gets into more trouble than anyone Derek has ever met, including Scott, he’s messy and pushy and irritating and Derek can’t get enough.
He more than a little aware though that actually sleeping with Stiles might mean a loss of control for him, he feels himself slipping whenever Stiles comes, hot and sticky between them, or Stiles sinks to his knees and uses that mouth for something a hell of a lot more useful than talking. The wolf claws inside him, desperate to get out and mark Stiles as his own.
Stiles isn’t a wolf, no matter the dreams that sometimes wake Derek, of sinking his teeth into Stiles’s skin and having Stiles run through the wood with him. Those dreams wake him up at night, cold sweat prickling his forehead as Stiles shifts against him and presses his nose harder against Derek’s neck. But Stiles is human, and he’s fragile and Derek will not allow himself to hurt him. No matter how much he wants to sometimes.
Part of that is why he’s more than happy to touch Stiles whenever he can now, to mark him with his scent rather than his hands, or teeth, because he knows the others smell him on Stiles, and for now that’s enough.
Stiles has put his little touches all over the house, even if they’re invisible to anyone else but Derek. There’s a piece of wall paper in the living room which doesn’t line with the next piece by a millimetre, a tiny fleck of paint on one door jamb that Stiles missed, there’s a book of Stiles’s in the kitchen, lying spine up and open on the counter where Stiles had placed it last night after Derek had wrapped his arms around him from behind and pushed his hands into Stiles pants. And the smell, it hangs in almost every corner of the house, except the tunnels underneath which Stiles has refused to ever go into, but it leaks out of the floorboards whenever Derek walks, curls around him and Derek knows he’s well and truly fallen for the kid.
Derek spends the day putting finishing touches to the refurb of the house that no longer smells like death and burning. He’s fixing a squeaking shutter when he hears the familiar rumble of Stiles’s jeep. It’s late afternoon and the sun is still warm, Derek’s shirt is tucked into his back pocket and he’s hit with a wave of arousal as Stiles steps out of the jeep and catches site of him and Derek can do nothing except smile, and grip at the screwdriver in his hands even tighter than before.
Sometimes, when he picks up strong emotions from Stiles, it catches him off guard and he spends a few seconds reeling from the fact that anyone feels strongly for him, let alone this ridiculous kid with the most infectious grin. Stiles smiles, waves a brown paper bag of what Derek can only assume if Chinese food. Derek mirrors the grin and manages to uncurl his fingers from the screwdriver just before Stiles steps up into his space and leans up to kiss him. Derek pulls him close, curls one arms around Stiles and Stiles lets out a small groan as his free hand plays across Derek’s tattoo.
“Hi,” he grins as he pulls away and Derek runs his thumb across Stiles’s cheekbone in way of greeting before he takes the bag of food from him and makes his way into the house. “So…how was your day dear?” Stiles asks and Derek rolls his eyes, but drops the bag onto the counter and pulls Stiles close again.
“Shut up.”
Stiles shuts up, and lets Derek lift him onto the counter and kiss him hard.
They don’t make it to the bedroom.
…
“Don’t you have to go?” Derek asks, sometime around 3 in the morning, empty Chinese food cartons on the floor and Stiles’s body is draped over his. He feels Stiles shake his head before he lifts it and shakes it again, fingers curling against Derek’s chest.
“No,” there’s a hint of a smile on his lips and Derek trails his hand down Stiles’s spine, watches the way his eyes close briefly.
“Sherriff working nights?” Stiles shakes his head again and he opens his eyes and Derek is hit by a way of arousal and embarrassment. “Does he think you’re at Scott’s?” He asks with disapproval. He did his fair share of lying to parents when he was younger but this is the Sherriff that Stiles is lying to, the Sherriff who still looks at Derek with suspicion, the Sherriff who he needs on his side if he’s going to have any kind of lasting relationship with Stiles.
“No.”
“Usually I would be happy about your lack of talking but right now you’re freaking me out,” Derek says and Stiles grins, shifts till he’s lying on top of Derek and kisses the centre of his chest.
“We came to an…agreement,” he says, muffled against Derek’s skin and Derek cups at his face and pulls his head up.
“What sort of agreement?”
“Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell?” Stiles tries, with another grin and Derek raises an eyebrow and Stiles sighs, “as long as he knows where, and not the specifics, he’s fine.”
A wave of worry floods through Derek, the knowledge that the Sherriff knows makes him uneasy, makes this seem real when he wanted to keep it under wraps from the rest of the town for as long as possible. He didn’t want to be branded the older man who debases the town’s kids. Not that there’s been any actual debasing of course. He wanted just them for as long as possible so he didn’t have to sort through his feelings for Stiles and figure out what the hell they mean.
“You told your dad?” Stiles frowns slightly and goes to move off him.
“Of course I told my dad,” there’s a flush on Stiles’s cheeks and Derek pulls him back, spins them both until he’s got Stiles pinned underneath him and he’s overrun with emotions for the kid. He kisses him, hard, feels Stiles’s surprise until he relaxes into it and kisses back, running his hands up Derek’s back and pulling their chests together. “I told him before…you know…we even started…this,” his words are said right between them, Derek’s mouth millimetres from Stiles’s as they breathe the same air and Derek drives his hips down, slides his dick against Stiles’s.
“What is this?” Derek asks and Stiles’s fingers press into his shoulders. Derek doesn’t lift his head, just presses it to Stiles’s and drives his hips down again and Stiles curls one leg around him and pulls them closer.
“I don’t know,” he groans and Derek reaches between them and wraps his hand around both of them, thumbing over the slit in Stiles’s dick and drawing his hand down. Stiles groans again and arches his neck, his forehead sliding against Derek’s. Derek lowers his mouth to the offered skin, mouths at the pulse thumping under it and Stiles shudders beneath him.
“Me neither,” Derek replies, squeezing at the base of Stiles’s dick then drawing his hand upwards and running his thumb nail over the slit. Stiles bites off a moan and Derek stills his hand.
“Don’t stop,” Stiles breathes, his eyes open and fixed on Derek’s and Derek gets the feeling they’re talking about so much more than Derek’s hand right now.
“I wont,” He kisses Stiles, licks into his mouth and swallows his moan when Derek moves his hand again, kisses the taste of himself from earlier from Stiles’s mouth and catches Stiles’s shout as he comes, body twitching under Derek’s. Stiles keeps moving, pushing his dick into Derek’s hand, sliding it across Derek’s and the friction, Derek’s own hand, the scent of Stiles and them together almost overpowers him and he comes as Stiles whispers “good” into his mouth then bites down on his lower lip.
…
Stiles can, and will, fall asleep anywhere and at anytime and he falls asleep with Derek laid out over him like a big werewolf blanket.
He wakes though and feels the big werewolf blanket brooding somewhere on the other side of the overtly large bed (that Stiles may or may not have had a hand in getting Derek to buy). Derek’s got his back to him, shoulders tense and tattoo stark against his skin in the semi light flooding through the open curtains and Stiles shifts, and again, gives Derek time to realise he’s awake and slap his Alpha mask on like he does whenever he’s brooding about something.
It’s strange waking up and realising he doesn’t have to run back to his dad’s, in a whirlwind of panic that has Derek’s lips quirking at the corners with the effort of not laughing as he stubs yet another toe. Strange, but undeniably good, even if the brooding shoulders from across the bed are ignoring him. He reaches out a hand tentatively, lets his fingers play against the muscles of Derek’s back and Derek jumps slightly, half turns with a half smile on his lips then looks back at whatever was so fascinating to begin with. Stiles moves, gets to his knees and rests his head on Derek’s shoulder.
“What’s up, Sour Wolf?” Derek runs a hand over Stiles’s head and then stands, stretches out his shoulders until Stiles hears a pop and then he turns back to him.
“Nothing,” he smiles slightly and Stiles frowns.
“Ok I know I don’t have freaky hearing and everything but I can tell when you’re lying,” he says and Derek rolls his eyes. “You have a tell.” Derek curls a lip and places his hands on his hips.
“I do not have a tell,” he narrows his eyes but Stiles can see the amusement in them and that’s at least a start.
“Yeah, you do, it’s little, but I like to think I know you pretty well. At least as well as anyone can, although I hope I know your penis better than say…Jackson…” Stiles lets out an embarrassing squeak as Derek growls and launches himself across the bed at Stiles, pins him down into the mattress.
“Shut up Stiles.”
There’s no more brooding after that.
…
“Don’t you have work to do?” Stiles jumps slightly and Derek pushes himself off the kitchen door frame and walks towards him. Stiles swallows the ever present spike of lust that shirtless Derek Hale provokes in him and Derek’s eyes darken like they always do. Derek reaches him, doesn’t touch him but stands close enough that Stiles can feel the heat from his body and he reaches around Stiles and grabs the coffee pot, his lips twitching slightly as Stiles leans into him. Derek pours himself a coffee and takes a sip, runs his hand across Stiles’s chest as he walks past him and leans against the counter and locks his gaze with Stiles.
There’s a warmth that settles in Stiles’s chest whenever Derek looks at him like that, his heated gaze heavy on Stiles and Stiles feels his cheeks flush slightly and he clears his throat as Derek smirks at him knowingly.
“So, are you going to work today or are you staying here to piss me off?” Derek asks and Stiles hops up onto the counter, because he knows Derek hates it when he does that, and shrugs. Derek steps up to him and pushes Stiles’s thighs apart, crowds into the space between them, drops his mug onto the counter and cups at Stiles’s face.
“I hate to say it Derek but this is almost…domestic,” Stiles grins and Derek rolls his eyes, plants a quick kiss on Stiles’s lips that’s obscene in its promise of later. Stiles wonders briefly how Derek can make something almost chaste seem completely pornographic and then Derek slaps at his denim clad thigh and steps away from him.
“Go to work…and don’t think just because your dad knows you can stay here all the time,” he says, voice gruff but Stiles can here the amusement in it.
“You do realise you can’t get rid of me now?” Stiles calls after Derek’s retreating back as he grabs at his backpack and pats his pockets for his keys.
“I was afraid of that…” Derek calls back and Stiles hears the creak of the first step as Derek heads upstairs. “Go to work.”
“See you later,” Stiles calls and doesn’t wait for an answer as he heads out of the door and into his jeep, wondering when the hell he became an Alpha wolf’s boyfriend.
…
Sometimes Stiles parks his jeep far from the house, to try and sneak up on Derek, but it always back fires and Derek’s usually waiting for him and pounces on Stiles the second he walks through the door. It usually ends up with them rutting on the floor like teenagers, not that Stiles is complaining, but once he would like to have the upper hand. So he parks his jeep at home and decides to walk over. He shifts his bag higher on his shoulder and trudges through the woods until the house looms through the trees.
He walks as lightly as he can, treading softly on the ground as he reaches the steps and avoids the creaking one as he walks up to the door and grabs the handle. It sticks sometimes but Stiles yanks it quickly and it moves without a problem.
The door, thanks to Stiles’s skills with grease, doesn’t creak anymore, either and Stiles pulls it open all the way and takes a deep breath as he walks into the house. There’s faint noise from the kitchen and Stiles bites on his bottom lip as he creeps through the house towards it.
Derek’s got his back to the door, his head bent low over something and he stiffens slightly but carries on with whatever he was doing and Stiles leans against the frame to watch him for a second. The back of his neck is exposed, t-shirt old and loose on his shoulders and Stiles’s fingers itch to run them over the skin and watch the way Derek’s eyes darken.
“How was work, dear?” Derek asks suddenly, making Stiles jump guiltily. Derek turns and there’s a smirk on his face as he puts down the screwdriver in his hand and places it next to the carriage clock he’s obviously fixing.
“How do you always know it’s me?” Stiles pouts as Derek makes it over to him, curls his fingers into Stiles’s jeans and pulls him all the way into the kitchen and presses him back to the fridge.
“You smell,” Derek says, leaning forward and running his nose up the length of Stiles’s neck. Stiles shivers and clutches at Derek’s hips.
“Nice, thanks,” he mutters and Derek pushes his hands into Stiles’s t-shirt, palms almost burning hot against Stiles’s skin.
“Like us,” Derek says, “you smell like us…it’s a good smell,” Derek licks at Stiles’s throat, grazes his teeth over the skin. Derek pulls away suddenly, grabs at Stiles’s hand and pulls them over his head, curls his larger hands around Stiles’s wrists and kisses him hard, slides a thigh between Stiles’s as he licks into his mouth and Stiles cant help the embarrassing noise that escapes his throat
“What does it smell like?” He squeaks, yes squeaks, because Derek pushes one hand into the back of Stiles’s pants and squeezes at his backside, fingernails almost on the wrong side of painful as his mouth slides across Stiles’s jaw.
“Hard to explain,” Derek mutters, one long finger sliding between Stiles’s ass cheeks and dear God that’s where he’s wanted Derek for four years. Derek pulls his ear lobe into his mouth, bites down gently and pushes the finger against Stiles’s hole. There’s a hint of pressure, a small bite of pain because it’s dry and Stiles strains his hands against Derek’s strong hold. He needs to touch him, needs to feel his hot skin under his hands and sink to his knees and take Derek into his mouth. He bucks up against Derek’s hard body.
“Please Derek,” he begs and he’s not even sure what he’s begging for but Derek pulls back, pulls his hand out of Stiles’s pants, but keeps his thigh between Stiles’s and his hand clasped around his wrists. He fixes Stiles with a heavy, penetrating stare and Stiles cant help but squirm.
“What do you want Stiles?” Derek demands, fingers tightening around his wrists and he presses forward, nudges his nose against Stiles and breathes in deeply and Stiles whimpers like the pathetic teenager that he is.
“Fuck me,” the words are out of his mouth before he knows what he’s saying and Derek freezes for a second, eyes going wide and terrified but then Alpha Derek is back and his eyes flash red and he lets out a small growl as he hauls Stiles as close as he can and tries to kiss the breath out of Stiles’s body.
When he lets Stiles go he pushes slightly, steps away from him and runs a hand through his hair.
“I just worry…” he starts and Stiles frowns and runs his fingers down Derek’s forearm.
“Now would be a great time to stop being a martyr and fuck me into a mattress,” Stiles says and Derek’s lips twitch, “or the floor…a wall, I’m not adverse to the fridge or the kitchen counter either.”
“Stiles shut up,” Derek growls but there’s a hint of a smile on his face as he turns back to Stiles. “If I lose control, you can’t stop me,” he says seriously and Stiles swallows.
“I kind of figured that, I mean, look at you, look at me, its not like we’re evenly matched in the muscles department, I mean seriously, do you work out every day or something…”
“Stiles…”
“Shutting up,” Stiles clears his throat and watches Derek pace the kitchen, worry trailing behind him and Stiles frowns and takes a deep breath as he pulls his t-shirt over his head and throws it at him. Derek lets out an incredulous noise and throws the shirt onto the floor, freezes mid step when he sees Stiles go for the button on his jeans.
“What are you doing?”
“Well,” Stiles says, pulling the zipper on his jeans down slowly and keeping eye contact with Derek. Derek’s eyes keep dropping to Stiles’s hands, “I’m just getting ready for you to finish your freak out,” he says and Derek’s eyes narrow, “and then I’m thinking I could blow you in the kitchen, then we could go upstairs and you could fuck me into the mattress…sound like a plan?” Stiles pushes his jeans down, his boxers with them and swallows around the embarrassment and nerves that flutter down his throat and into his stomach. He’s not an exhibitionist, he’s not proud of his body but he feels a surge of confidence as Derek’s eyes go dark and he licks at his lips as Stiles reaches down and curls a hand around himself.
“Stiles.” It’s low, quiet, slightly pleading for Stiles to stop and at the same time carry on and Stiles draws his hand upwards, his hips chasing the friction and a soft growl rumbles from Derek’s chest.
Stiles has never really thought of himself as sexy, or sexual, sure he likes sex (or the almost sex he and Derek get up to) but what 20 year old male doesn’t like sex. Derek’s looking at him right now like he’s live porn and Stiles can’t help the blush against his cheeks, or the moan that escapes his throat as he twists his hand like Derek would.
“Do you have any idea what you look like?” It’s not said with distain, its said with an almost awe filled voice and Stiles shakes his head because no he has no idea and he can’t cope with Derek’s dark gaze right now, it’s almost too much. “Stiles, look at me.” Stiles snaps his gaze from Derek’s chest to his eyes and swallows, pulls his lip between his teeth as he keeps his hand moving slowly over his dick, “you ready for this?” Derek asks.
“Yes,” Derek’s still not touching him but he’s close enough now that Stiles can feel the heat radiating off his body and the way his jaw muscles clench.
“We’ll take it slow, I don’t want to hurt you,” Derek says quietly, reaching out and circling one of Stiles’s nipples with his index finger nail. Stiles moans.
“I’ve been waiting four years…” Stiles really has no idea how he’s talking right now, let alone how his hand is still moving and he’s not on his knees begging Derek to just fuck him already, “you think I haven’t…experimented with myself,” Derek’s growls again and snakes an arm around him, pulls them flush together and Stiles’s hand is trapped between them.
“You’ll have to show me that one day,” he says, running his nose along the side of Stiles’s neck, “God you smell so good.”
“Derek…come on,” Stiles whines, his hand trapped and motionless, all he can do is squeeze around himself and Derek licks up his throat then steps away.
“Up stairs,” he practically barks and Stiles nods, and his feet move before his brain has even caught up.
Derek stops him mid way up the stairs, pulls him back against his chest and curls his long fingers around Stiles’s dick. Stiles groans, lets his head fall back against Derek’s shoulder and pushes his hips forward. Derek’s thumb grazes over the sensitive skin and he bites down gently on Stiles’s throat.
“I didn’t mention anything about the stairs,” Stiles groans as Derek’s tongue licks at the bite and he lets of a breath that could be a laugh against Stiles’s skin.
“Move then,” he growls and Stiles reaches behind him and curls his hand around Derek’s neck.
“You might have to let me go for that to happen,” he replies, turning his head and catching Derek’s mouth as he groans into the kiss.
“No,” Derek twists his hand and Stiles digs his fingers into the back of Derek’s neck, “you’re going to come here,” he says, breath hot against Stiles’s ear and then he licks the shell of it and twists his hand again and Stiles feels his orgasm build low in his stomach, “come on Stiles,” his body seizes and he comes hard enough to see stars, over Derek’s hand, and then falls back against his solid body. Derek runs his fingers up the length of Stiles’s dick and Stiles shudders, pushes his hand away, it’s too much, too soon and Derek chuckles darkly in his ear and practically carries him up the rest of the stairs and into the bedroom.
He’s been here before, obviously. He spends most nights with Derek wrapped around him after all. The few times they don’t spend tangled together, Stiles has to pretend he doesn’t know Derek smells the frustration on him from a mile away until one of them snaps and drags the other upstairs.
So he’s been here before, with Derek looking at him hungrily and Stiles practically vibrating with need. But it’s never been with the promise of actual sex. Derek must feel the difference too because he hauls Stiles close and falls them both backwards. Stiles lands with an oomph and then a groan as Derek gets hand between them and curls it around Stiles’s dick.
“Too soon,” Stiles whines and Derek chuckles against his skin, pulls back and kisses Stiles hard, swallows his groans and protests. Derek’s hand leaves his dick, slides around his hip and down his backside, presses between his cheeks and Stiles jumps at the unfamiliar pressure.
“You sure about this?” Derek mutters, then pulls back far enough to stare down at Stiles with a piercing glare that practically has Stiles coming again, right then and there.
“Christ Derek, just…” Stiles chokes off as Derek presses his finger in harder, Stiles’s own fingers digging into Derek’s shoulders, “more.”
“Easy,” Derek pulls away completely and leans across to rifle through the drawer in his bedside cabinet. He keeps his hand on Stiles’s chest, a warm, heavy presence and then he’s back, in Stiles’s vision, with a condom packet and a small bottle of lube. Stiles’s heart jumps with nerves and Derek cocks his head to the side. “Ok?”
“Yeah fine, just…just…”
“Speak slowly and enunciate,” Derek says, his voice slightly amused as he runs his fingers up Stiles’s stomach, swirls his index finger around Stiles’s belly button.
“The suspense is kinda killing me,” Stiles says, slowly, enunciating and Derek grins wolfishly, dips his head to bite gently at Stiles ‘s collar bone and Stiles hears the click of a lid being flipped open, he’s distracted by Derek’s tongue soothing the bite, and then Derek’s finger, slick and cool, is slowly being pressed inside his body. “Oh God,” it hurts a little, but no more than when Stiles does it to himself, but the added bonus of having Derek’s tongue against his skin and his breath hot against his ear makes the stretch and burn all the more glorious.
“Ok?” Derek asks again, drawing his finger out equally slowly and Stiles can do nothing more than nod when he presses it back in.
Derek keeps that up for what seems like hours, never speeding up or slowing down, never more than one finger, occasionally he curls it inside Stiles, but its just the gently pressure that drives him mad, until he’s practically biting through his own lip.
“More,” he breathes and Derek pulls his finger out and pushes it back in, adds another and Stiles groans as it fills him. He keeps the pace slow, spreading his fingers out slightly when he’s all the way in and Stiles groans, doesn’t even have to say more before Derek is pushing a third finger in with something akin to worry etched across his face. “Oh Jesus that’s good,” Stiles moans and the worry bleeds away. Stiles is getting used to it, the burn isn’t quiet as much, its replaced with something else, a warm pleasure that starts low in his belly and then explodes when Derek pushes his fingers all the way in, explodes behind his eyes and his whole body feels like it’s on fire. “What the fuck was that?” he gasps as Derek pulls his fingers out slightly and Stiles feels like he can breathe again. Derek’s lips are quirked to the side, a dark look in his eyes as he pushes his fingers back in and Stiles arches off the bed. “Again.”
“No,” Derek growls and pulls his fingers out of Stiles’s body. Stiles whimpers pathetically, and Derek leans over him and kisses him, runs his palms over Stiles’s short hair as his tongue licks along the roof of Stiles’s mouth. Derek shifts, his dick slides against Stiles’s and Stiles wraps his legs around his waist and pulls him closer.
“Derek, come on,” Stiles whines because he needs it, he needs this, needs more and Derek’s still holding back, he can feel it in the tension in his shoulders.
“Sure?” Derek asks, pulls back and staring straight down at Stiles. Stiles shifts and Derek’s eyes close for a second and his hand twitches against Stiles’s scalp.
“Ask me that one more time and I will punch you in the face,” Stiles replies and Derek’s lips quirk at the side.
“I’d like to see you try,” he mutters, pulls back and sits across Stiles’s thighs. Derek curls his hand around himself and twists. The groans that falls from Derek’s lips is like something out of a porn film and Stiles runs his hands up Derek’s thighs, his thumbs running along the crease where his legs are bent and Derek’s eyes flash red for a second. Stiles swallows, curls his fingers around Derek’s and Derek lets him draw their hands upwards, Stiles’s thumb brushing over the tip of Derek’s dick. Derek’s hips surge forward, a small growl rumbling through him and then he shakes Stiles’s hand off and reaches to the side for the condom.
It’s almost mesmeric, watching Derek roll it on, and Stiles has to drag his eyes from Derek’s dick to his face when Derek finishes. He shifts back, runs his hands across Stiles’s thighs, down to his knees and pushes his legs apart until he’s spread open and its almost embarrassing. Derek’s gaze though, heavy and hot, is enough to make Stiles feel comfortable and spread his legs just that little bit wider. He watches Derek’s throat bob as he swallows and then Derek curls a hand around Stiles’s ankle and lifts his leg. His fingers trail over Stiles’s skin as he wraps Stiles’s leg around him, fingernails scratching slightly and then Derek’s pressing forward, leaning down, arms shaking, his dick pushing slightly at Stiles’s hole. Stiles tenses and Derek nudges his nose against Stiles’s. “Relax,” he mutters, then pushes in.
It hurts more than Stiles would have thought, but it’s a good pain, one edge with lust and desire as Derek presses his forehead to Stiles’s and breathes in deeply. Stiles’s fingers slip and slide against Derek’s shoulders as Derek pushes all the way in and the pain peaks and then bleeds away as Derek breathes against his neck.
Derek’s arms are shaking as Stiles runs his hands down them and Derek lifts his head enough to look at him.
“Ok?” he asks and Stiles shifts experimentally, tenses his muscles inside and Derek growls.
“You going to move any time soon?” Stiles asks and Derek shifts, straightens his arms, his hands pressed into the mattress by Stiles’s head, and slowly pulls out.
“How’s that for moving?” Derek asks, eyes glinting slightly and Stiles wraps his other leg around him and arches his hips upwards, the slide of Derek inside getting easier now.
“More,” Stiles breathes and Derek pushes back in, all the way and grunts as Stiles tenses around him again. “Fuck.”
“Jesus Stiles,” Derek sounds miles away and Stiles tangles his fingers into Derek’s hair, “feel so good,” he draws out, almost completely, “tight,” pushes back in, hard, and hits that same spot inside Stiles.
Derek sets a slow pace, slow but deep, pressing the head of his dick to that spot every time he pushes all the way in and in 5 minutes, maybe an hour, Stiles loses track of time, Stiles is almost completely insane with the need for Derek to do something other that fuck him slowly.
“Derek, come on, please,” he mutters and Derek shifts, gets an arm under Stiles and manoeuvres them till Stiles is straddled over Derek’s lap, without Derek sliding out of his body. The change in angle pushes Derek in deeper but its lets Stiles move as he wants, even as Derek’s dick hits that spot inside him with every thrust.
It doesn’t take long for Stiles to feel something build in his stomach, his thighs burning from the movement, and Derek reaches between them, curls his fingers around Stiles’s dick and runs his thumb nail over the slit. “Come on Stiles,” he mutters, running a hand up Stiles’s spine and pulling him close, kissing him hard as he twists his hand and drives his hips upwards and Stiles comes, crying out into Derek’s mouth as Derek growls back into his. And then the world moves whilst Stiles is still trying to get his breath back, and he finds himself flat on his back staring up at Derek whose eyes have gone red. It should be terrifying, it should makes him fight Derek, try to push him off and run away but he lifts his hand and runs his fingers through Derek’s hair as Derek fucks into his body hard. Derek closes his eyes, leans into Stiles’s touch and lifts one of his legs higher, pushes in deeper, once, twice and then comes, with Stiles’s name on his lip and then bites down on Stiles’s bottom lip.
Derek starts to get heavy after a while, his head pressed to Stiles’s shoulder and Stiles runs his fingers down Derek’s spine and clenches his muscles around Derek’s dick.
“You know you’re kinda heavy,” Stiles mutters and Derek huffs out something, lifts his head and the red in his eyes bleeds away. He pets at Stiles’s short hair for a second, runs a thumb over Stiles’s lower lip as he shifts and pulls out with a slick noise and a grimace from Stiles. Stiles stretches, groans as his muscles protest and there’s a dull ache where he’s never felt before and Derek looks slightly worried. “I’m fine,” he sighs and Derek raises an eyebrow. “Ok, kind of more than fine…great…awesome…am…”
“Stiles, shut up,” Derek growls, but there’s a laugh in his eyes and he trails his hand down Stiles’s leg as he sits up and turns away. There’s a noise of latex against skin and then a dull thud as the obviously used condom hits the floor then Derek is back, lying down next to Stiles and gathering him in close. Derek presses his nose to the side of Stiles’s neck and breathes in.
“Smell the same as before?” he asks and he feels Derek shake his head.
“Better.”
…
Stiles wakes up hot, again, legs tangled with Derek and he shifts, grimaces as his muscles protest again. Derek mutters something, huffs it out against Stiles’s neck and shifts, presses his hips closer to Stiles and Stiles feels his dick stir between them.
He’s woken up like this before, turned on and horny, sometimes even with Derek’s hand around him, but it’s different now, better somehow, knowing that he could just ask Derek to fuck him, or perhaps, if he was brave enough, bring Derek to the brink and sink down on him without waking him.
Derek stirs again, moans quietly, shifts his hips and Stiles suppresses the desire to rut up against his thigh like a horny teenager.
“You’re insatiable,” Derek mutters and Stiles laughs. Derek nips at his throat and then lifts his head. Although Stiles would never say it to his face, Derek looks almost adorable when he’s just woken up, his hair sticks up in all different angles, and there are more often than not pillow lines on his face that make him seem younger, more care free, less burdened with the pack and everything that brings.
“Not my fault,” Stiles replies, shifting his own hips into Derek’s. Derek growls softly, Kisses Stiles hard and sends him home smelling of sex with a few new love bites on his neck.
…
“Morning kiddo,” Stiles jumps as his dad walks into the kitchen looking freshly showered when Stiles himself feels like he hasn’t washed for a week, his skin feels sticky and his hands smell like Derek., “good night?”
“Yes thank you,” Stiles answers warily as his dad pours himself a mug of coffee.
“You stay at Derek’s?” his dad leans against the counter and fixes Stiles with his ‘tell me everything’ stare.
“Ok, we’re doing this once and once only,” Stiles takes a deep breath, “yes we had sex, yes we were careful, and no, he’s not coming over for dinner,” he pauses and takes a sip of his own coffee, “ever.” His dad cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes slightly.
“Do you love…him?” Stiles can’t help but notice the way his dad pauses on him. To be honest it took Stiles himself long enough to come to terms with the fact that he had a big Derek hard on, he can’t really expect his father to come around in a couple of months, when all he probably wanted was for Stiles to marry a nice curvy lady who smelt like roses and cookies and have a few fat children and stay in Beacon Hills forever. Instead he’s shacking up with a tall, dark, mysterious man who he once accused of murder. He can see the problem. Although it still smarts a little that he still has to justify this to his dad.
“You wish it wasn’t a man?” He asks, more than a little accusation in his voice, he can’t help it. His dad sighs, and sits down at the table next to him.
“I wish it wasn’t a man you once accused of murder,” he answers, a quirk at the corner of his lips makes Stiles’s anger seep out slowly.
“I told you…” he starts and his dad pats his shoulder.
“Yeah I know, big misunderstanding, Scott’s fault,” his hand stills on his shoulder and he squeezes gently, “Stiles, I don’t care if it’s a man, woman or…a freaking mountain lion…” Stiles makes a face of confused disgust, “actually I do care about the mountain lion, but man or woman or something in between, you’re happy, I’m happy. You are happy?”
“Yeah dad, I am,” he answers straight away because he doesn’t even have to think about it. Derek is confusing and still more than a little moody on occasions, but he lets Stiles talk when he needs to without telling him to shut up (most of the time anyway), he’s fiercely loyal in a way that kinda scares Stiles, he understands when Stiles gets maudlin about his mom and says nothing, just holds him close. He’s never been more turned on, confused, frustrated or content than when he’s with Derek.
Stiles has never been happier.
“Good. Your mom was better at this sort of thing,” his dad says and Stiles hates the look his dad gets whenever he talks about his mom, the sad, lost look that he wore for the first year after she died.
“Mom was better at dealing with her son coming out?” he asks with a grin and his dad’s face lifts, “I don’t think she had any experience with that,” Stiles shakes his head and his dad stands, cuffs him round the back of the head but then strokes it once.
“You know what I mean, wise ass,” his dad smiles, the soft, gentle smile that has everyone eating out of Sherriff Stillinski’s hand.
“Yeah I know what you mean,” Stiles answers and his did pats his shoulder once more, grabs his badge and shoves his gun into its holster.
“Go take a shower would you,” he shouts over his shoulder, “you smell.” Stiles is too preoccupied with wanting the world to swallow him whole to hear his dad’s chuckle before he slams the front door.
…
There’s a certain stillness to the library that Stiles loves, the hushed sounds of whispers and the soft almost crack of pages turning, echoing off the ceiling. It’s relaxing, makes Stiles’s mind stop whirring for once, and now that he thinks about it, it didn’t whir once last night with Derek buried deep inside his body.
Stiles feels the blush creep over his cheeks and checks down the stall he’s currently hiding behind to make sure no mind readers are watching him. You never know. Once satisfied, he crosses his legs under him and pulls out a copy of Myth’s and Legends. It’s pages are well thumbed, mostly by Stiles, but he likes reading it, turning the pages and running his fingers over the pictures of the creatures he now knows for sure exist. He’s halfway through tracing a werewolf with his index finger and wondering what Derek is up to when a voice in his ear makes him jump.
“Surely you of all people know all there is to know about werewolves,” the voice is accompanied by fiery red hair and a mile wide grin, “including their mating habits.”
“Lyds, what are you doing here,” he holds out a hand and Lydia rolls her eyes but hauls him to his feet.
“Thought I’d come home for a few days, got a break in classes so,” she shrugs and then grabs his arm, “now tell me everything and leave nothing out because I can smell Derek on you a mile away,” Stiles blushes again and she tugs him over towards the exit, “oh, and you’re buying me lunch.”
…
Stiles chokes on a mouthful of milkshake when Lydia cocks her head to the side halfway through lunch and says in her I know everything voice “you’re in love with him.”
“What? No, I…I mean, I like him, a lot, but love? I…” he stammers and Lydia arches an impeccably shaped eyebrow over one eye.
“Well I’ve seen the way he looks at you, moron, so figure it out cos I can tell you, not from personal experience of course, but a heartbroken Alpha is no fun,” she tosses her hair over her shoulder and pops another fry into her mouth. She draws glances, some long, some passing, from the passers-by as she licks the salt from her fingers. “He’s totally in love with you,” she finishes and then takes a sip of her Diet Coke, “I mean so much so that it’s almost embarrassing.”
Stiles bites on his bottom lip.
“Lyds,” he shakes his head because really Derek is possibly the best looking person he has ever seen, and Stiles? Well Stiles is average, and annoying and he talks too much.
“Do I have to remind you how many times I am right? And how many times you are wrong?” She points a fry at him and he shakes his head at her menacing expression. Lydia can still be scary, even years after leaving High School, she’s never lost that ability to make someone quake in their boots with one glare. She hasn’t lost the ability to reduce Stiles to a gibbering wreck either.
“No, fine. You’re right, I’m wrong,” he sulks and Lydia smiles, pushes her fries across the small table to Stiles and twirls a lock of hair around her finger.
“And the world is right again,” she says with a grin.
…
Lydia kisses his cheek then gives it a friendly slap as she leaves.
“Tell him,” she says and then screeches off in her brand new Audi. And Stiles is left wondering why he’s so terrified of telling him in the first place.
Sure Derek’s an Alpha Werewolf, he could easily rip Stiles’s throat out with his teeth if he felt so inclined. But he also looked at Stiles last night like Stiles was special, and not in the Special Ed kind of way that a lot of people used to look at him like. He was worried about Stiles. And the thought of losing Derek makes Stiles’s blood run cold.
He spends the rest of the day going through scenarios in his head.
Hey Derek, so…I love you, lets have puppies…
Wanna get Civil Partnered up?
I like sex, you like sex, lets just keep having sex…
And his personal favourite…
You and me baby aint nothing but mammals, so lets do it like they do on the Discovery Channel...
Stiles is pretty screwed. He’s never really been good with words, and for someone who uses a hell of a lot of them, that’s saying something. But they trip out of his mouth and he finds it hard to say exactly what he wants in just a few short words. Why use three words when he can use 30, right?
He pulls his jeep, still going strong after all these years and despite Peter Hale’s attempt to kill that too, into the driveway in front of his house and nearly dies at the sight of Derek’s car parked outside, right next to his dad’s.
“Shit,” he clambers out of the jeep, trips over his seat belt and stumbles. He’s imagining all sorts of scenes when he opens the door. His dad with his shotgun trained at a fully wolfed out Derek high of the list of possible scenarios. What he’s not expecting is the deep throated, no question about it, Derek laugh that floats from the kitchen into the hallway, and its not a ‘I just ripped your throat out’ laugh, it’s a ‘you’re really amusing’ laugh. He’s not expecting his dad’s answering laugh either, or the clink of glass against glass and then the sound of liquid.
His dad and his werewolf boyfriend are sharing drinks and jokes in the kitchen. Stiles’s life couldn’t really get more surreal.
His dad’s laugh trails off and he sighs the sigh that Stiles knows means he’s going to say something threatening. Stiles grimaces, ready to launch himself into the kitchen in Derek’s defence.
“You hurt my son, I will kill you,” his dad says and Stiles drops his head into his hand.
There’s a moment of silence where Stile can imagine Derek’s heavy gaze and wonders if his dad is oblivious to the supernatural aura around Derek or not.
“I love your son,” he says that likes his answer, like that makes everything ok and Stiles feels his eyes widen to the point that they almost fall out of his head, “even though he’d make a terrible spy.”
“Stiles,” his dad calls and Stiles pushes the door open with a grimace, “how did you know he was here?” his dad looks at Derek.
“I recognise the sound of his death trap of a jeep a mile away,” Derek says, but he’s looking at Siles, with one eyebrow slightly raised and Stiles knows that it’s because he smelled him. The thought makes heat pool in his belly as he remembers Derek’s sweat slick skin under his hands as he pushes deep inside Stiles’s body. “How was lunch with Lydia?”
“You love me?” he says like an idiot, ignoring the fact that Derek knew Lydia was around and that sometimes his sense of smell freaks Stiles out. His dad clears his throat awkwardly. Derek narrows his eyes in the way he does when he’s trying not to smile.
“It took you this long to figure it out?” He asks and Stiles stalks across the kitchen and Derek meets him half way, his hands cupping at Stiles’s face, thumbs running over his cheekbones.
“I’m going to…go…somewhere else,” his dad rubs the back of his head then disappears but Stiles doesn’t even take his eyes off Derek.
“You love me,” Stiles says again and Derek rolls his eyes.
“I have no idea why but yes,” he runs his palm over Stiles’s buzz cut and Stiles practically purrs, leaning into the touch like he always does.
“Lydia told me you did,” he mutters and Derek’s hand stops at the back of his neck, squeezes gently, nails digging in slightly and Stiles’s groans quietly.
“Did she?” Derek asks, amusement evident in his voice about how Stiles is behaving like a kitten having its belly scratched. “I might have to remind her that her Alpha doesn’t like meddlers,”
“No, don’t…” Stiles stops as Derek slides his hand down Stiles’s face, presses his thumb into the soft skin under his chin and tips Stiles’s head back. He kisses at Stiles’s chin, “me too, by the way,” Stiles mutters as Derek’s stubble grazes his skin.
“You too what?” his voice rumbles against Stiles’s throat, and he scrapes his teeth gently across is.
“Love you,” Stiles says, and its surprisingly not as difficult to say out loud as he thought it would be. Derek’s fingers twitch against his skin and then Stiles feels his smile against his neck.
“I know,” he mutters, then presses his lips briefly to Stiles’s pulse and lifts his head. There’s a smile on his lips, just a hint, but Stiles can read it loud and clear in his eyes.
“Could you smell it on me?” Stiles asks with a grin, “pick up some freaky love scent that I put out or something?” Derek’s face breaks out into a stupidly fond smile and he shakes his head, nudges his nose against Stiles’s.
“Stiles, shut up,” he mutters, darts his tongue out to lick at his lips and it brushes along Stiles’s. Stiles lets out an embarrassing noise that he will deny to his dying day.
“Make me,” he replies and Derek does just that.
…
Stiles wakes up cold, his usual werewolf blanket missing, the powerful legs that are usually wrapped around his own are gone and he stretches and hears the sounds of domesticity from downstairs, clinks of mugs and the faint whirring of the coffee machine. His dad bites out a laugh and Stiles smiles to himself sleepily, stretches again and manages to haul himself out of bed, pull a t-shirt over his head and stumble down the stairs.
Derek’s leaning up against the kitchen counter with his dad working around him. It looks easy, to an outsider, one who doesn’t know the subtle differences in his favourite people’s body language. There’s still a very slight air of unease about them, but that’s fine, they’re both trying. His dad knows that Derek loves Stiles, and Derek knows that the Sherriff is only trying to protect his only son. The seem to have a mutual respect for each other but Stiles isn’t expecting play dates between them any time soon. As long as they aren’t threatening to kill each other Stiles is happy.
Derek turns, flashes him a brief smile that’s brilliant in it’s simplicity. His hands wrap around his coffee mug and he accepts the kiss that Stiles presses to his cheek.
“Morning,” Stiles mutters and Derek lets his lips quirk in a half smile as he listens to something his dad is saying. His dad, without the freaky werewolf hearing hasn’t realised he’s there yet and Stiles snuggles into Derek’s side and steals his mug from his hands.
“And that’s when I turned around and said…Stiles,” his dad looks surprised and Derek flinches slightly at his side, tries to step away but Stiles snakes an arm around his waist and keeps him still.
“Morning,” Stiles says brightly and his dad smiles, gestures to the table with the frying pan currently in his hands.
“Sit,” Stiles doesn’t have to be told twice, his dad makes great eggs.
If someone was to ask Stiles if he would be sitting with his dad and Derek on a Saturday morning eating eggs and pressing his thigh to Derek’s under the table a few months ago he would have laughed in their face.
But he has to admit, its probably the best place to be right now.
Derek’s hand lands on his thigh and he squeezes gently, love you.
Stiles throws him a brief smile around a mouthful of eggs, you too.