Fic: Teen Wolf: state of readiness | NC17 | Derek/Stiles (9/10)

[girlguidejones]

They sit cross-legged and facing each other on Stiles' bed. A few minutes into their aimless chat, Stiles realizes he's finally given into his obsession, and is poking his finger into the hole in Derek's same worn-out jeans. He flushes and starts to pull away, but Derek stops him with a hand on his wrist.

"I-I like it," he says simply. "I like it when you touch me."

"Could have been touching a lot more, these last few weeks…" Stiles trails off as Derek flushes and sits up a little straighter, looking anywhere but at Stiles. "C'mon, man, you've got to know we're not going fix our shit without this conversation happening."

"I know," Derek says tightly. "But can't we just say I fucked up and let it be over already?"

"We could," Stiles says quietly, and Derek's head snaps up and he has a tiny gleam of hope in his eyes until he looks at Stiles. "And that would probably work, this time. But I'm more of a long-term-solution guy." Derek swallows but doesn't reply.

"Unless…" Stiles is suddenly terrified that he's misread everything and is asking for something Derek wasn't really putting on offer. He's ninety percent certain he's not. Okay, maybe eighty percent. For sure, a solid sixty-five.

"Unless what?" Derek really doesn't get it, is completely puzzled and that in itself is probably Stiles' answer and he doesn't need to really go any further, but now that he's planted that ten-to-thirty-five percent seed of doubt in his own mind about Derek's intentions, he discovers he really does need to hear it.

"Unless long-term isn't-"

"It is!" Derek snaps immediately. "Fuck, Stiles, I went to your dad. Your dad the sheriff!" he hisses. "You think I did that for a one-night-stand?" Derek looks more hurt than pissed, and Stiles feels a little guilty.

"Okay, okay," he says, "you're right. I-just-sometimes I like things a little more spelled out."

"I'm a crappy speller."

It's so endearing that Stiles struggles to stay on track; he just wants to gather Derek up and kiss the top of his head or something ridiculous like that.

"You should have talked to me first," he says instead, more firmly than he intended and he feels bad because Derek registers it immediately and flinches and Stiles was only speaking so sternly to keep himself on task, not Derek, and-

"I know. I'm sorry." Derek says and it's clear he's terrified that he's fucked up irreparably. Stiles can't stand that look on his face, hates it, never wants to see it again.

"I believe you, Derek. I…I just want to understand why you didn't, is all." Stiles moves closer, until their kneecaps are actually kissing each other, and lays his hands on Derek's thighs, just above his knees, squeezing softly. It grounds the both of them.

"I was sixteen," he says on a deep, shaky exhale, and Stiles knows immediately where Derek is going. He nods, to show he understands, but it's a little like Pandora's box because Stiles asked for it and he can tell that now Derek is just going to go ahead and open the lid and give it all up.

"With Kate. I was sixteen, and she was just a little younger than I am now, and I thought I was absolutely in love for life. I thought she was the best person in the world, the best person for me. I was so sure that I didn't even bother to get the opinion of anyone else I loved."

"Derek…" Stiles squeezes his legs again, butts his head gently into Derek's jaw like he's seen the betas do when they try to get him out of his own head, but Derek ignores it.

"I figured if…if your dad…if your dad looked at me and saw someone he'd trust-with you-then maybe it would be okay this time."

"You versus Kate…this isn't even an apples to oranges thing. It's more like-" Stiles struggles to find the most ridiculous analogy ever, "-it's like, apples to elephants. Not even remotely close. You know that, right?" he asks. "You believe it?"

"Yeah, I do, but that's not the point," Derek says stubbornly. "The point is that someone else believes it. Someone else that's not me or you."

"And now that you've gotten the stamp of approval?" Stiles asks, and maybe Stiles is actually the bad person in this whole thing, the one whose intentions are questionable, because he moves his hands ever-so-slightly more to the insides of Derek's thighs.

"I wouldn't go that far. It's not like he took me out to buy condoms or anything," Derek says. He's manfully trying to ignore Stiles' brazen hands, but Stiles sees his pupils widening.

"But I didn't come home to find you missing and a mysterious new plot of azaleas planted in the back yard, either." Stiles grins. "That's practically an endorsement in itself, trust me."

"If you say so." Derek laughs a little, and it's a real one because Derek's forced laughs don't crinkle his eye corners that way.

"Okay, so, to summarize-" Stiles ignores Derek's sardonic brow thing that's really hot, because he has a point to make. "-you aren't going to make decisions for me, about me, anymore."

He waits for Derek's nod, which is very cautiously surrendered. Stiles might be offended at Derek's hesitation, if he weren't running his hands up and down the inseam at the thigh of Derek's jeans. His motives probably deserve a little skepticism at this point.

"Agreed. And…?" Derek prompts, shifting carefully. Stiles very studiously does not look down.

"And I reward you with sex," Stiles confirms, leaning in to mouth along Derek's jawline.

"D-don't you feel like you're sort of-" Derek pauses to get in a kiss of his own, hands gentle on either side of Stiles' face, before pulling back to finish his thought. "I dunno, undermining your moral high ground with a deal like that?"

"Absolutely not. You got yourself a bedrock of morality here, buddy," Stiles says, licking into Derek's mouth in a decidedly immoral way. Derek's sudden sharp intake of breath at the touch of Stiles' tongue to his is followed immediately by a huff of laughter.

"If you say so…" Derek says, nipping at Stiles' earlobe.

"You disagree?" Stiles asks innocently, thumbing closer to the vee between Derek's legs.

"Not if it makes you stop…ahhh…doing that," Derek says wisely.

"But when considering my morality, the word 'bedrock' isn't what immediately comes to mind?" Stiles doesn't let it drop, sliding his hands up and under the hem of Derek's shirt.

"I was picturing something more like 'sinkhole', if you really want to know." Derek grins against the corner of Stiles' mouth.

"You're not right."

"Werewolf," Derek says succinctly, tracing the seam of Stiles' mouth with his tongue as he tugs Stiles closer.

And really, who can argue with that? Who in this room currently has the capacity to, for that matter?

Certainly not Stiles.

He knees himself up to straddle Derek, wrapping his arms around his neck and settling down with a soft groan. Derek's face immediately turns into Stiles' neck, his tongue tracing his pulse point as Derek softly rumbles against his throat. The noise goes straight to Stiles' dick, and he grinds down into Derek's lap as if someone pushed a literal button.

Derek's hands are more than willing to help, cupping Stiles' ass and helping to press him down against the hard line of his cock.

"Clothes…off," Derek growls, but he's kind of lost the plot himself, sticking his hands down the back of Stiles' jeans to get at his skin instead of doing anything to help move things along. Stiles is about to point this out, until the moment when one of Derek's hands slips into his crack and down and ohmyfuckinggod Derek's finger is-

"Derek." No response, just more teeth scraping at the point of Stiles' jaw and more rubbing against Stiles' hole. "Derek!"

"Mmmmm?" Derek answers, but doesn't stop…well, anything. He's still worrying at Stiles' neck and his middle finger is pushing with slightly more intent than it was just a moment ago.

"Derek, I am seriously about three seconds from coming in my pants," Stiles says, finally getting his hands up enough to push at Derek's shoulders and get his attention.

"Told you before," Derek laughs, "not worried about your recovery time."

"I don't want my first orgasm with you to be in my pants, okay?" Stiles' hands drop to Derek's belt buckle with a feverish fumble. "Someday, when we're stealing a quickie in the bathroom at Tractor Supply, fine. But not today."

"Why would we ever be in a Tractor Supply?" Derek pauses, brows knitting in puzzlement.

"So not the point, man."

That gets Derek's attention, and he finally withdraws his hands from inside Stiles' jeans, closing them instead over Stiles' where they tremble at Derek's waist.

"Where do you want your first orgasm with me to be?" he says softly. It's the dangerous sort of soft, the kind that lures you in and seduces you before you even know you're trapped. Derek's eyes are dark, slitted and gleaming, and Stiles is more than half-certain it's partly the wolf who's looking out at him.

It's too cunning to be purely human.

"I-I-don't…" Stiles stammers, and Derek shushes him with a finger to his lips, his other hand working Stiles' zipper down.

"Uh uh," Derek sing-songs, as he slips Stiles' cock free and strokes it too softly to do any good, "you know what they say. If you're not ready to say, you're not ready to pl-"

"In your mouth!" Stiles blurts, before he can change his mind and suddenly, he's on his back, Derek's full weight on his legs, pinning him.

Oh fuck, fuck he's dreamt of this, a million times, Derek on his knees, Derek on top of him like this, him kneeling over Derek's head. He's even imagined Derek underwater at the pool. In that one, Derek fishes Stiles' cock out of his trunks and holds his breath as he sinks beneath the surface, Stiles' balls heavy with their own ballast as he dicks deep into Derek's mouth.

And okay, maybe that last one is anatomically unlikely, even for a werewolf, but still. Fantasy. Derek's mouth on him is very, very much reality, however, hot wet heat and a slippery tongue sliding down, and tight lips sucking on the upstroke. Both of his hands shove Stiles' jeans down under the curve of his ass as he lifts Stiles up, closer to him, as if his nose could somehow bury itself any fucking deeper against the base of Stiles' cock each time he swallows him down.

When Stiles opens his eyes and looks, Derek is looking back up at him, rolling his own hips against the mattress where he lies between Stiles' legs. It's filthy, and from the eyefucking Derek's giving him, deliberately so. Unlike Stiles, Derek apparently has no compunction about coming in his own pants. Judging from the way he's humping the bed? After swallowing Stiles whole, it seems to be his only mission in life.

"Don't," Stiles groans, burying his fingers in Derek's hair and tugging to get his attention. Derek likes it, fucking loves it, if the way he sucks cock is any indicator. He gives up the hand-job-head-suck fusion he has going on, and just swallows Stiles down, and growls. The thrum of it vibrates from the center of Stiles out, like a pebble in a puddle, waves of arousal getting bigger and bigger as they radiate through him.

"Not…not you either," Stiles begs, even as his own hips jerk upward in uncontrollable response to the way Derek's throat is squeezing around him. Derek's hands press him back down. "Want you…want your come in me," he gasps, yanking Derek's hair again.

The symmetry appeals to him even though he knows that he should be beyond logical thinking at this stage. But Derek coming in his shorts when Stiles gets to empty himself into the most gorgeous mouth he's ever seen…it feels like Derek's getting cheated.

Derek's been cheated out of enough in his life, Stiles thinks.

Derek moans again, deep and long, and Stiles can't help it, can't hold back anymore and Derek doesn't make him. Instead, Derek's hands help him, they push Stiles up as he lifts and fucks himself up and into Derek's mouth.

It's rude, what he's doing, the way his cockhead thrusts into the Derek's soft palate, gagging him, the way his fingers tangle in Derek's hair and hold him there, the way he shouts and spurts without a single PC word of warning to the guy with your dick in his mouth, who maybe might not want to be water-boarded with your come.

Derek-completely unsurprisingly-doesn't give a damn about PC niceties. He sucks like Stiles' dick is a straw in his favorite milkshake, dark-stubbled cheeks hollowing around Stiles like it's his fucking job.

When Stiles softens in Derek's mouth he gentles, but doesn't release his cock until Stiles whines and bats at his head. Even then he doesn't retreat, face rooting around the base of Stiles' cock and under his empty balls, snorting great lungfuls of his scent and licking up stray droplets of Stiles' come.

"You…god, come up here," Stiles whines, tugging again at Derek's hair, but more gently this time. When Derek slides up Stiles can finally reach his pants, and works the button and zipper while Derek rucks up Stiles' shirt and sucks his nipple. Stiles shoves at Derek's clothing in return, briefs too with his jeans, all at once. When he gets them down far enough, Stiles squirms one leg between Derek's, hooking his foot into the crotch and kick-shoving them the rest of the way down to Derek's ankles.

"That's…that's pretty impressive," Derek laughs a kiss into Stiles' mouth as he helps wriggle them all the way off. "You sure you haven't done this before?"

"Saw it in a porno," Stiles admits, lips curving where they press against Derek's. "Didn't think it would actually work. Now move."

Stiles pushes up and tilts them, tipping Derek onto his side so Stiles can get at his cock.

"Pushy," Derek grins, but only for a moment until Stiles' fingers close tentatively around him. Derek is steadily leaking pre-come; Stiles thinks reaching for the lube at this point would be insulting, possibly even some breach of werewolf sex etiquette, since Derek's cock is obviously working diligently to make sure things are nice and slippery.

Derek grunts, and it sounds encouraging, so Stiles continues to squeeze and stroke. Derek whips off his own shirt like it has personally offended him by staying present all this time, then gets to work on Stiles' clothes. Eventually he seems to realize that Stiles will have to stop stroking him for a moment if he wants Stiles naked, and he smacks Stiles' hand away, growling, and tugs Stiles' shirt off as fast as he can.

Instead of letting Stiles reach for him again, he jacks himself while he holds Stiles close with the other arm. Just the very tip of his cock brushes against the thin skin over Stiles' hipbone, leaving wetness behind each time it taps him. Stiles watches, sees how Derek is a little rougher than he was, committing it to memory.

He also sees something else.

"Is that-" Stiles stammers, "-is that a…ohmygod…"

Anyone who's seen dogs fucking (and come on, who hasn't googled that?) knows what that is.

Derek goes completely still, his own hand on his own cock squeezing too tightly to feel good now, Stiles is certain. His eyes are huge, shifting from Stiles to his cock and back to Stiles, shock and fear evident in his expression. Stiles gets the distinct impression that the shock is because Derek didn't expect this either, and the fear is because he's not sure what Stiles is going to do.

Well, fuck that.

"Can I?" Stiles breathes, leaning close. He doesn't know what he's asking for, and surely Derek can't either, but he still nods permission anyway. Stiles hears him draw in a sharp breath when he reaches out, but at the last moment Stiles shimmies down to where Derek's fingers are curled around himself, just above what is-irrefutably-a knot.

Derek is outright gasping for breath now. Stiles leans forward, delicately mouthing the knot, teasing it with his tongue. It's hard and hot and slick and swollen and suddenly Stiles just has to have it in him as fast as possible.

So he sucks, just puts his mouth as far around Derek's knot as he can, lays his tongue against it, and sucks. He immediately feels Derek yanking at his hair, hears him groaning and humping awkwardly into Stiles face and then everything is dark, and then everything is wet.

"F-fuck, Stiles, fuck!"

Derek is coming all over Stiles' face, has slapped his unoccupied hand over Stiles' eyes at the last moment and in the middle of scorching, kinky sex Stiles is overwhelmed with the simple gesture of protection. Because, yeah, a previous masturbatory mishap has proven that come in the eye burns like hell.

Derek moans, more of Stiles' name, more of sounds that Stiles is pretty sure come from the wolf side of things. But that's to be expected, he guesses, given the whole, well, knot aspect of things and evidence that Stiles is apparently way more than just okay with it.

He's a fan.

Derek's starting to come down, his movements slowing and his growls turning into something more like whimpers. Stiles tries to pull away but is stopped by a firm hand on the back of his neck.

"Be still," Derek says, voice shaky and rough.

I did that, Stiles thinks, I made him vulnerable, and he let me, and knowing it is almost as hot as the sex itself. He feels (because he still can't see) Derek fumble around the bed and then Derek's hand lifts away, one of their t-shirts carefully wiping at Stiles' face.

"Are you okay?" Derek's gruff, but that voice-the one that hides worry with the sound of sandpaper-is one Stiles is already intimate with. Stiles curls into him.

"I'm way past okay, buddy. I'm all the way over into the territory of excellence."

Derek huffs and, predictably, starts to lick at whatever remains on Stiles face and neck, and, ew, inside the whorl of Stiles' ear. Which sort of does it for Stiles, the ear thing, and he tries to communicate that by squirming closer.

Derek growls, a warning-but-not, the kind that means 'I don't necessarily disapprove enough to put a stop to this entirely at this time but know that there may be consequences'. Stiles has heard that one a dozen times at least, though generally while wearing more clothing.

"You can, you know," Stiles pants, staring down between them at where Derek's cock has not gone down at all, the knot if anything, more prominent. "I'm, I'm ready. I'm willing. Totally. I'm a first-class passenger on the willing train." Derek shakes his head, leans back away from Stiles.

"Are you sure?" I mean, it-you've already come, and it didn't help. It looks like you need to. Like maybe it hurts if you don't?"

The last is a question Derek doesn't answer right away. He just refuses to look Stiles in the eye and shakes his head again.

"That's…it's not time for that yet," he mumbles, folding himself down to lay his head on Stiles' chest. Stiles isn't even sure he means to, but his cock is rutting into the space behind Stiles' balls. And he's moaning.

"You can't be serious." Stiles is skeptical. "Because it looks like it's been time for a while now. Like, it might be time for it all night if you don't."

Derek huffs in annoyance, but somehow keeps petting and rutting while being frustrated with Stiles. Stiles thinks that's a good sign for him getting regular sex in the future, that sexy-type activities are not exclusive of Derek being annoyed with him. Because that would be a frequent cock-block, otherwise.

"I mean, you're too young," Derek says softly, licking Stiles' nipple like it might take the sting out of his words. "It's too soon."

Derek might know what he's doing at that, because Stiles is definitely distracted for a good five minutes by the burn of Derek's beard across his chest, and the hint of teeth around first one nipple then the other. His balls are soaked too; he can't imagine how much pre-come Derek is putting out, to make a wet spot that big in the sheets already.

"I'm not too young to fight, or die trying, but I'm too young for kinky werewolf sex?" Stiles complains, arching his back to emphasize his point.

Derek takes a deep, shaky breath and shifts to lie fully between Stiles' legs, wrapping his arms under him to cradle him at the small of his back. He rubs the sweat of his arousal from his face against Stiles' belly before staring up at him, dark eyes forlorn, resigned.

"It's not because it's kinky, Stiles," he says softly. "It's what it means."

"I don't know what it means, besides 'hot'," Stiles says. "And, possibly, 'ouch'," he admits after a beat. "But I'm okay with ouchyness. I trust you to balance it with the appropriate amounts of 'oh my god'."

Stiles puts all of his sincerity behind it, turns the Stillinski Brown Eyes of Capitulation up to full wattage. He looks at Derek's face, and can tell that Derek believes him, doesn't hear even the hint of a lie.

He can also tell that it doesn't matter.

"It means mate Stiles," Derek says softly. "It means forever."

Stiles is thrown.

"It…it does?"

Derek nods, a tiny, soft smile curving his lips. Stiles licks his own, struggling to find a thread to follow.

"How? How do you know?" he asks finally, laying a hand at Derek's jaw. Derek rubs into it before he answers.

"I don't," he says, then sees Stiles' expression, half-hurt and half confused. Stiles can't see it himself, of course, but it feels like his half-hurt, half-confused face.

"I mean, I do, I do, but-" Derek stammers, and then Stiles grins, slow and amused, and some of the tension drains away. Derek groans, dropping his face into Stiles' sternum, rubbing into Stiles' chest. Derek mumbles some more, and there's some stubble-burn inflicted as Derek noses around. Stiles finally can't wait anymore.

"So what did you mean?" he asks, genuinely curious. "That it's 'not you'?"

Derek takes a deep breath. This is clearly one of those topics that will require the expression of actual feelings while using full sentences, perhaps even a verbal paragraph or two. Stiles hums quietly to himself, petting Derek absently on his face and neck, generously allowing him time to collect himself.

Stiles is pretty awesome, really. It's no wonder he's good mate material.

"It's isn't me that chooses to knot a mate," Derek says finally. At Stiles' quizzical look he amends himself. "Not this me," he says.

"Come again?" Stiles asks, feeling a little lightheaded, because he thinks he's figured out the answer already.

"It's the wolf."

Yep. That's what he figured alright.

"I'm sorry," Derek says sincerely. "I know it's a lot to throw at you. I wasn't ready for this," he explains. "If I'd known it was going to happen, I'd have talked to you beforehand."

"How did you not know?" Stiles says. And then, because he's Stiles: "That there would be a knot?"

Derek glares at him, but Stiles just smiles winningly back.

"It's never happened before," Derek says. He shrugs, trying to inject it with casualness, but, whoa.

"But…at least…I mean, Kate…you loved her?" Stiles is breathless. Derek looks at him, gaze open and hard. Bitter.

"I did. My wolf didn't." Derek spits the words out. "I ignored the most basic part of me, the sharpest instinct I have and I didn't listen-"

"Derek, no, Jesus. C'mere."

Stiles reaches for him, pulls Derek up and down onto his body and tucks his face in against Stiles' neck, urging. Stiles thinks every calming, comforting word he can at Derek.

Forgiveness. Absolution. Understanding, acceptance, compassion.

Mercy.

He peppers the thoughts at Derek, hopes the words have smells and auras that he can sense and absorb, rubs his chin and jaw into Derek's scalp and his gentles his hands across the triskele.

Derek shudders once against him, a full-on body tremor, and then he breathes deeply against the pulse in Stiles' neck, in and out, scenting Stiles again and again. Stiles thinks love and worth and want at him as fiercely as he can, willing him to soak it up.

Then he thinks mine, and yours, and finally, mate.

Derek must get it, must get some of it at least. He sighs, presses an achingly gentle kiss to Stiles' jugular before rising up on his elbows to look down at Stiles.

"You were just a kid, Derek," Stiles says softly, now that he can see Derek's face again. "You couldn't have known. You were too young."

Instead of protesting and clinging to his guilt, or even looking relieved at Stiles' forgiveness, Derek just stares at him for a long moment, eyes tracing the contours of Stiles' face.

"Like you are now," he says sadly, pained by his own success at walking Stiles into his perfectly awful, perfectly inescapable verbal snare.

Cunning, cunning wolf.

Stiles wants a do-over, aches to take back those last words and say the same thing but better, smarter. But there's no way out.

"If that's true, Stiles? Then you can't know yet either, not for sure," Derek continues, driving his point home. Stiles opens his mouth to try anyway, but Derek covers it gently with his fingers, shaking his head.

"This is my line, Stiles," Derek says, and it's the most confident, the strongest he's sounded for a while now, so Stiles doesn't interrupt. "It's what I'm comfortable with. It's my line in the sand, and I'm not going to step over it, not matter what you say or do."

Stiles stares up at him, still stunned by finding himself in a trap of his own making. Derek knows it's forever, for himself. Stiles can tell by the little smile he had when he told Stiles what the knot means. The wolf knows. Stiles knows.

But Derek can't bring himself to believe that Stiles is certain. He isn't ready to. Not yet, anyway. Derek stares at him, waiting for a challenge, but Stiles doesn't give him one, and Derek continues.

"If you can't accept this, if you're going to fight me and tempt me and pick at me every time I turn around, then I can't be with you," he finishes. He's not angry, or defensive, or threatening. He's just, well, honest, and as clear-headed as Stiles has ever seen him.

Stiles has a flash of memory back to the earlier conversation with his Dad, and his Dad's reminder about how Derek's consent was as essential as Stiles'. And he wonders…wonders how much Kate pushed, how much she demanded and seduced and if she took what wasn't hers.

He wonders if Derek had ever really had the freedom to consent at all.

Suddenly Stiles is so fiercely proud of Derek that his chest aches with it. Finally, almost eight years gone, Derek has the good sense and the strength and the self-worth to take care of himself first.

"Okay," Stiles promises. He presses a palm up flat against Derek's heart. Hello, movie cliché, but it feels right so Stiles does it anyway. "I won't push."

Derek's face softens with relief, and he nods. A droplet of sweat falls from his hair onto Stiles' face, and Derek chases it with his tongue. It ought to be gross, but as usual Derek's intimately interested in anything that makes their smells combine, and Stiles has lost the ability to pretend it's not hot. He moans, turning his head into Derek, who's followed the drop down and is now sucking a bite onto the meat of Stiles' shoulder.

Stiles scrabbles a hand between them, purposeful and seeking. When he gets their cocks lined up, he arches up beneath Derek.

"C'mon, man…" Stiles gasps, and is immediately rewarded by a growl and the full weight of Derek grinding down into him. Stiles is fully hard again in an instant. Derek has never softened this whole time; he gasps and presses into Stiles, hips rolling with need.

Derek puts his mouth wherever it will reach, with seemingly no purpose beyond feeling and tasting Stiles' skin with his lips and tongue. He goes from biting Stiles' shoulder to licking his clavicle to sucking at the hinge of Stiles' jaw. Some places get a moan from Derek, some get a growl. There's even a whine when Derek rubs his face against his sternum. Stiles is fascinated by all the different sounds for all the different places; he wants to catalogue and diagram them and figure out a correlation.

Every few thrusts Stiles feels Derek's knot, either rubbing fiercely along Stiles' cock, or pressing down into the soft skin of Stiles' belly. Either way it feels so hard, so thick, that when he imagines that part of Derek inside him it makes Stiles' balls draw up so fast that he's dizzy.

"Derek! I…fuck, Derek-" Stiles tries to tell him he's there, he's gonna come, in case, in case-he doesn't know what in case, maybe if Derek knows he can do something, get something from it that will ease the wolf, but then it's happening and it's too fast, too late to do anything but burst with it.

Derek groans, rutting eagerly into the suddenly soaking wet space between their bellies. Stiles whines and just lets go, arms tight around Derek's neck, pulling his face down where Stiles can breathe right at him, rolling through his orgasm. He feels Derek tense and bow on top of him, then-

"Stiles!" Derek says, and comes.

Derek buries his face in Stiles' neck, mouth open and gasping his release against the sore place of a bruise he's already put there. They rut against each other, little frissions like earthquake aftershocks twitching at Stiles for a few more minutes.

It's a mess between them, and Stiles just knows that any minute now Derek is gonna be down there, sniffing and snuffling and licking. He feels his cock twitch once, valiantly, at the idea. Derek must feel it too. He raises his head a little, but instead of the amused, mocking eyebrow that Stiles is expecting, Derek looks…hopeful, like Stiles being ready to go again so instantly is exactly what he wants.

Or needs. Because now Stiles realizes that despite just coming all over Stiles a second time, Derek is still painfully hard, and still in possession of a very hard knot.

"Oh my god, Derek!" Stiles gasps, pushing up against Derek's chest. Derek looks glum, horny, and frustrated at the same time, which should be impossible to pull off, but somehow he does it. He raises himself up and off of Stiles. A few sticky, spider-webbish strands of come stretch between their bellies as he pulls away, gleaming silver in the moonlight that leaks through the blinds, before eventually snapping.

"Clearly something needs to happen here," Stiles insists, even as Derek shakes his head. They've somehow ended up facing each other, both of them kneeling on the mattress as if they couldn't have this argument lying down. Stiles feels their come cooling on his lower belly; Derek reaches out to rub his fingers in it.

"I said no, you…you're too…no." Derek looks as if he might burst at any moment. He palms Stiles below his belly button, pressing and smearing the come to stickiness, before licking his own hand spotless.

It derails Stiles for a minute, until Derek shifts again, his painful-looking cock bobbing heavily between his thighs.

"I understand, I swear. I'm not trying to do an end run around my promise," Stiles insists, squeezing Derek's shoulder for emphasis. "But what?"

Stiles stares at where the knot remains, the skin over it so tight it's almost translucent. He remembers all the admonishments from sex-ed; teachers, pre-scolding the boys against claiming physical harm from withheld sex and warning students that it was a lie.

It sure doesn't look like a lie right now.

"Maybe…your hand?" Derek is flushed and panting, leaning forward heavily, hands on his quads. But Stiles can see his face growing even redder.

"That-will that work?" Stiles stares, eyes ping-ponging from Derek's face to his cock to Stiles' own hand and back. "It'll help?"

"Yeah," Derek grunts. "It'll help."

"But…how do you know, if you haven't…"

Derek stares at him, wild-eyed, beads of sweat dotting his forehead, then back down to the swollen base of his cock. Stiles reaches out and closes his hand carefully around the steadily growing bulb on Derek's dick.

"I haven't! I told you I haven't!" he gasps, urging Stiles to squeeze tighter by wringing his own hand around Stiles'.

"Okay! Okay, but how do you know about this?" Stiles squeaks. He's staring too, can't quit thinking about how it would feel inside him-that hard, big, (scary-big) knot of cock. He bats Derek's hand away, making him groan unhappily for the three seconds that there's no pressure on his knot, but then Stiles has him to himself.

He strokes Derek a few times from tip to almost-base, tightening just above his knot but not slipping over it the way Derek so clearly wants him to, grunting and hipping up each time Stiles strokes down.

"I-" Derek ducks his head, gnaws with blunt teeth into the tendon of Stiles' neck, hips stuttering as he jerks his knot up against Stiles' grip.

"I-I may have watched some stuff," Derek admits, panting. Stiles puts his other hand on Derek's shoulder, holding him where he can get a good look at him, and gawks at him.

"Werewolf porn? Real werewolf porn? Wolf-on-wolf action?" Stiles narrows his eyes, squeezes Derek's cock meaningfully. "Wolf-on-human?"

Derek looks pained but he doesn't deny any of it, just glares and shifts his knees on the bed, trying to get more comfortable during what is clearly an unwelcome lull.

"So, all this time," Stiles says, "time during which, to be clear, you mocked me for looking for werewolf porn, it has actually existed?"

"Yes," Derek says tightly. He glances furtively at his own junk, currently being pleasantly-if not completely satisfyingly-squeezed by Stiles' left hand.

"There's, what? A Werewolf Sex Cabal? The Lupine Illuminati? They sponsor a secret, firewalled section of YouPorn where you need a member referral and a set of encrypted passwords that rotates daily?"

"Stiiiiles…" Derek whines, but Stiles is so not caving for that, mister.

"Oh, no. No way buddy. You are not holding out on me after this," he threatens. "As soon as you're done coming every milliliter of fluid from your body, you are gonna hook me up," Stiles commands. "Or else."

Stiles has timed his demands perfectly; Derek's balls are filling again, drawing up, and his cock is leaking steadily, pre-come dribbling down over Stiles' knuckles. Staring at the knot, and thinking about exactly why Derek's body thinks it needs that much slick, is mesmerizing.

Derek's cock is starting to swell even more at the base. It's like the knot has a mind of its own. Apparently-despite Derek's protests-the wolf has decided that it's in the presence of its mate and is determined that the knot do its duty.

"Yessss…" Derek hisses, "yes, okay, just-" he pauses, gulping air in and keening it right back out into Stiles' neck "-Jesus, Stiles, please…"

That breaks him, hearing Derek beg for release. Any resolve Stiles has been clinging to, to draw this out, to take Derek apart with literally his own bare hands, evaporates at the gravelly sound of that plea.

It's like flipping a switch, reversing polarity; now all Stiles wants is to drive Derek to orgasm as fast as it's inhumanly possible for him to get there.

Without warning him, Stiles sinks his tight, slippery hand down to press against Derek's knot. He pumps his fist against it a few times, tugging part-way up Derek's sheath and then butting back down to the knot, before-squeezing enough to make it feel like he's forcing it-he pops over the knot, fingers and thumb immediately ringing tightly below it.

Derek gasps and moans low and long, with what sounds like abject relief. Stiles jerks up against his knot repeatedly and squeezes, Derek's slick making it wet and lewd.

Derek is wrecked; non-verbal in the face of Stiles' obscene knotting simulation, groaning nonsense syllables in a haze of pleasure-pain. His hands reach out, trembling, and seize Stiles' forearm, not trying to guide him, but just seeking an anchor.

Derek tugs his cock back against Stiles' grip, breath hitching each time at the futility. Once. Twice. Both of their heads are bowed, foreheads leaning against each other as they stare in tandem at where Stiles' fingers cage Derek's swollen cock. Derek tests Stiles' grasp a third time, hips stutter-canting backward repeatedly as if to get away but Stiles' fist holds him in place, tying him with his hand.

"You're stuck," Stiles says, as Derek collapses back onto the bed, panting. "Knotted." Stiles drops to his side. keeping his grip tight. He's untouched, and yet he's achingly hard again too, all from watching Derek come unglued. It's all he can do to stay focused. Stiles props himself up on his elbow and slots himself against Derek's hipbone, hips rolling as he ruts mindlessly against him.

"So fucking dirty, Stiles, fuck-" Derek rasps. "Close, God so ready-"

"Buried so fuckin' deep," Stiles goads him to the edge, "tied to me."

He licks the words into Derek's mouth, Derek's lips bitten and open for him. Stiles is ready to come again, barely staying on this side of it, face hot with shame at the sound of his own smut, but he squeezes mercilessly, jerking against Derek's knot.

He wants to see Derek come undone first.

"Whatcha gonna do now, Alpha?"

Derek's entire body goes rigid, every perfectly cut muscle taut and gleaming with sweat. His eyes shift to red and Stiles shivers at the sudden glint of fangs. He's not sure if it's the wolf or the man who answers him.

"Breed," Derek snarls, and comes, howling.

______________________________________________________________

the end