Wild in the Night
It's strange, almost surreal to run through these woods, night a heavy weight pressing between the trees, and not be afraid. Stiles can hear the sharp snap of branches, flashes of motion out of the corner of his eye, brief flashes of fanged grins beneath glowing gold and blue. It's strange but exhilarating, a laugh caught in the back of his throat as Erica and Boyd spill across his path, locked in a mock battle before vanishing into the trees.
Stiles thinks he can get used to this, laughter and mock growls beneath the full moon rather than grinding snarls and the rattle of chain stretched to the brink.
He's leaning against a tree to catch his breath, forearm braced against the rough bark, when an arm slides around his waist, drawing him back against a solid chest that is just ridiculous. A hot mouth drags up the side of his neck and he laughs, "Let me guess, I'm totally Red Riding Hood in this scenario, aren't I?"
Derek huffs but Stiles thinks he sounds more approving of the idea than put off. "Having fun?"
"I guess." Stiles shrugs, "But it's just not the same without all the terrified running and high pitched screaming." He shakes his head. "I'm going to lose so much lung capacity at this rate."
"We wouldn't want that." Stiles feels Derek's lips curve into a "just ate Grandma" smile and panics just as Derek's leg curls around his and sends them both tumbling to the ground.
Luckily Stiles is a master of falling, although luck really has nothing to do with it, just practice oh my god so much practice. It helps that Derek doesn't land on him. Stiles braces his hands on Derek's shoulders and shifts around, the leaves dry and brittle, a twig sticking into his back. "Really? Was that necessary?"
"Yes." Derek's grin is...toothy. He reaches for Stiles' pants and has them unbuttoned and is tugging them down his hips when Stiles' brain catches up with the program.
"I see how it is," he says, a little light-headed because half the blood in his body has found a better place to be. "So when you said pack bonding, first full moon with a human, blah blah," he lifts his hips so Derek can slide his pants to his ankles, "what you were really saying was, Stiles I want to fuck you beneath the full moon like the sappy, romantic werewolf I am."
Stiles didn't think it was possible, but Derek's smile grows wider, and there's a flash of red in his eyes, teeth growing sharp. "Exactly."
There's nothing Stiles can say to that except, "My, what big teeth you have."
Derek chuckles and pulls a bottle of lube out of his pocket. Stiles rolls his eyes. "I'd make fun of you but it means you clearly put some thought into this, which I find incredibly hot." His boxers have followed his pants and his erection is a hot curve against his belly.
Cheeks flushed hot with arousal and embarrassment, he lets Derek coax him onto his hands and knees, aware that out there the pack is watching. Derek doesn't waste any time, presses a slick finger inside. Stiles sinks his fingers into the leaves and breathes. It's quiet, eerily so, just his and Derek's panting.
Derek manages to work two fingers into him when he pulls out and Stiles takes his bottom lip between his teeth, realizes that it's going to be rough. He bows his spine, sucks in a breath at the first push of blunt heat, the slow stretch edging into pain, and it's so so good.
From there it's a blur of heat and friction, the leaves crackling beneath his knees, night's chill stroking across sweat-slick skin. Derek's fingers pressing bruises into his hips, sharp kisses with a hint of fang scraping over Stiles' shoulders and neck. Stiles gives up on biting back his moans when he tastes blood in his mouth.
All it takes is a touch of Derek's hand on his dick to make him come, and as Stiles convulses he feels the bite of claws where Derek's hands grip his hips, hears the low, growling curse. Stiles moans in protest when Derek abruptly hauls him up and sinks human teeth into his shoulder. Still riding the edge of his orgasm it doesn't hurt as much as he thinks it should.
Through his lashes Stiles can see the shadowy forms of the rest of the pack watching.