Fic: Sleepover - Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles
Title: Sleepover
Fandom/Pairing: Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles
Rating: Mature
Author's note: PWP, or as I was calling it as I was writing it, a warm-up. Thanks to
ataratah for beta.
It's not long of a distance between Stiles' bedroom window and his bed, but it feels like miles, barefoot miles, barefoot in the snow miles after the Hippalectryon. Because, yeah, they banished a half-horse, half-rooster from the greater Beacon Hills area. They, the pack, and Stiles helped, Stiles did magic and now he's exhausted. If magic's a muscle, he's sprained it, and he needs rest, doctors orders, Derek's orders. Derek's right behind him, making sure he gets home ok even though Stiles always gets home ok, he has no trouble finding home, or climbing in through his bedroom window, or face-planting into his bed.
“You good, Stiles?” Derek asks, closing the window behind them, and tugging closed the curtains, as though they could really keep anything out more dangerous than morning.
“Yeah,” Stiles says, but it's into his pillow and so he tries to wave but, ugh, do his shoulders ache, so he just hopes that Derek understands anyway.
“Ok, I'm just gonna - ” he hears Derek say and he feels the enormous - god how is he so heavy? - weight as Derek falls down on to the bed next to him. Stiles would protest about the invasion of space, or the lack of courtesy, or, you know, even asking if it was ok to lie down in Stiles' bed with Stiles, except that Stiles is just too tired, and it seems like by the way that Derek is making his mattress dip that maybe Derek is fucking exhausted too, in an exhausted werewolf sort of way, and Stiles just does not have a dram of energy to spare for a protest or a snarky comment before he's out.
He wakes with the sun too bright behind the curtains; he's missing school. Well, whatever, he saved all his classmates and teachers and the school board and whoever from a mythical creature last night, he can take the day off. He closes his eyes and reaches to pull the sheets up over him and - that's an arm, that's an arm attached to a person, in his bed -
Not a person. Well, a person, but not, uh - Derek. Derek is fast asleep. Stiles lets out a slow, loud exhalation of relief that it's not the Hippalectryon or a dead body. And how sad is his life that he wakes up and the first thing he thinks when he sees there's another person in his bed is that it could be a dead body, and not someone he hooked up with last night. Dead body, yeah, Stiles, good job.
Ok, but, Derek is in his bed and he's hogging all the sheets. Stiles tugs, and tugs, and tugs ones more time, and manages to gain a few inches, and fine, fine, he's just going to close his eyes and pretend that nothing at all is different, because it's his bed and he's sleeping in today, regardless of whether or not there's a werewolf in it with him.
Stiles wakes again maybe an hour later, brain-foggy and confused. He blinks, trying to figure out where he is, when he is, why there's a hand on his hip -
What -
Stiles blinks and blinks and - ok, Derek's hand is definitely on his hip, and Derek has to be asleep because - because - Derek's hand tightens, fingers digging in, nails catching at Stiles' jeans, he fell asleep with his jeans on and maybe this is werewolf dreaming and Derek's chasing dream rabbits- shit, how is he going to get out of this? Options. Options that don't end with Derek waking up and realizing he's been clutching at Stiles' hip in his sleep and of course it's all Stiles' fault. Options! He can wake and stretch ridiculously - no, that might scare him, what if he wolfs out when he's scared, what if he doesn't realize he's in Stiles' bed and thinks Stiles is a threat or a rabbit -
“Stiles,” Derek growls and Stiles jumps, he really does, he's like inches in the air above his bed, but when he comes back down - Derek's hand is still on his hip.
“Hi,” Stiles stammers out. “Hi Derek, good morning!”
“Go back to sleep,” Derek says.
“Yeah, ok,” Stiles says, but his eyes are still open.
“Stiles,” Derek says, and Stiles jumps again. Derek's hand tightens on his hip. “That was a bad fight. You need rest.”
“No, I just need Adderall,” Stiles says. Derek sighs, and it tickles the back of Stiles' neck.
“Ok, ok, I'll just - “ Stiles says, and he stills for ten seconds, at least, and then he twitches.
Because, ok, it's Derek. Maybe Stiles accidentally fell for a grumpy werewolf after they keep saving each others' lives so often that he lost count, but Derek doesn't do anything accidentally. Like how he's touching Stiles now, it's not incidental, it's possessive, and as soon as that word sticks in his head, he knows he's never going back to sleep until he knows.
“I just have to ask, the uh - the hand - thing,” Stiles says. Derek's hand twitches. “Is this a protective thing, like a pack thing? Because of the threat last night. I mean, it did almost eat me, but it gave me the chance to - ”
Derek's mouth is scary hot against the back of Stiles' neck, just at his hairline. Stiles is pretty sure he's going to get hard in, like, two seconds, fear of Derek's teeth or not.
“So it's a pack thing,” Stiles says. “This is anger, right? Protective....anger?”
“It's a compromise,” Derek says, so quietly, and Stiles is so distracted by the way Derek's lips brush against neck that it takes him a moment to understand the words.
“What about it is compromise?” Stiles says.
Derek just grunts.
“I don't get it, that’s all, and I want to get it, because I kind of like it, but - this. What is this?” Stiles says, and his fingers brush over Derek's knuckles, once, then twice. Stiles can feel Derek holding his breath, then exhaling it, warm against Stiles' neck, and he shivers.
“It's all I'm allowed,” Derek says.
Stiles' heart hammers. He knows Derek can hear it. Someone who wasn't a werewolf could hear it. Mrs. Gossler down the street could hear it.
So. The flirting. It's really been - flirting. Not just Stiles' awkward crush and Derek's - Derek-ness. And Scott's rolled eyes and Allison's giggles and Lydia's blithe comments about people who just don't know what to do with their mouths. But no one ever said anything specific. And no one ever asked Stiles what he thought was going on. He's not sure he would have had an answer.
“You could just - ask,” Stiles says, swallowing hard. “If that's the problem. You could ask if you're allowed.”
“Can I?” Derek says, like those two words are the hardest thing ever.
“Yes,” Stiles says, without bothering to wait to see if Derek's going to get any more specific.
Derek makes a pained noise and then licks Stiles' throat, from the nape of his neck to right under his ear. Stiles whimpers, he really does. And that's it, Stiles thinks, he's been licked by a werewolf, that's it, now he's been marked part of the pack or something and -
Derek does it again, a long, hot swipe of his tongue, and Stiles kind of loses track of his thoughts or words or anything that's not Derek's tongue, which is tracing the shell of his ear.
“Nnggaahh,” Stiles says, and Derek presses his nose behind Stiles' ear, takes a deep inhale, and then mouths along Stiles' jaw. Soft lips and rough tongue and hot breath and fuck, Stiles can't pretend there's any fear left, he's just laying in bed with Derek, letting Derek kiss his fucking neck and trying not to rock his ass back into Derek's cock.
Derek pulls away like he has some sort of werewolf telepathy and he read the raw lust running through Stiles' brain like it's a scrolling LED sign. The spot where his hand had been on Stiles' hip this whole time burns hot and then cold and then hot again.
“Huh,” Stiles gasps out. “What - I mean, what - ”
“I'll go, just give me a minute,” Derek says. Stiles flops over to look at Derek, who's sitting, board straight on his back, both his hands pressed over his face, looking like he has the biggest headache in the world. He's shirtless. Stiles watches his chest as it rises and falls with his breath.
“No, you're not going anywhere until you kiss me like a person,” Stiles says, surprising both of them. Derek's hands fall away from his face fast, hitting the mattress on either side of him with a loud thump that with a little more power behind it could have snapped his bed frame. “If you want,” Stiles adds, because Derek has his frowny face on again.
“If I want,” Derek repeats.
“I mean, it's not conditional, it's not like you can't leave until you kiss me, it's just that - your mouth, on my neck, it kind of seem like you wanted - ”
“I wanted - ” Derek says.
“Look, are you just repeating things I say?” Derek says nothing and Stiles says, “Ok, maybe not.”
They're both silent.
“So is that a no? Because then I'd like to pretend that I never asked that question, in fact, I'd like to pretend this never happened, unless the licking was some sort of pack thing, and that's fine, if it's for the pack, then - ”
“It's not about the pack,” Derek says.
“Oh,” Stiles says, “ok, that doesn't really answer any of my questions.”
“Were there actually any questions in there?”
“So you're a smartass too now, huh?”
Derek, predictably, says nothing. Stiles reaches out a finger and traces the line of muscle of Derek's abs. Derek's hands clench in the sheets. Stiles' hand doesn't get slapped away.
“Ok, fine,” Stiles says, and he looms over Derek a moment before he can figure out how to get the angle right, and then he presses his lips to Derek's mouth, which is already kind of half-open in shock or werewolf breath control, and Stiles closes his eyes and tenses for the moment when he's sailing through the air and crashing into his desk. He hopes that his laptop is closed, so maybe it will survive the impact.
Stiles opens his eyes when the shove doesn’t come. Derek is staring up at him. Stiles' bottom lip is still pressed to Derek's, and Stiles moves his mouth just a little, half-formed word of a kiss, while they're looking into each others' eyes, too close and too intense. Then Derek kisses him back, and Stiles' eyes fall closed without him meaning to as Derek's hot mouth opens beneath his, as Derek slips his slick lips against Stiles' lips, closing in on his bottom lip, letting go. His tongue laving his bottom lip, then the top, then the bottom, then -
Derek pulls Stiles close, and rolls then both on their side, and grabs the back of Stiles' neck and just - pulls Stiles' head where he wants it to be, tilts his head and kisses deep deep deep into Stiles' mouth and Stiles goes light-headed and kind of feverishly hot all over because he was not ready for this, he was not ready for this at all. For this kind of assault, this sure movement of Derek Hale next to him on his bed, kissing him like breathing doesn't matter, like he doesn't care if Stiles fucking comes in his pants.
Derek groans and Stiles feels it against his lips, in his teeth, in his cock, and he grabs onto Derek's biceps and slides his hands over the muscle, and tries to kiss back for all he's worth, but his wallet is kind of empty right now, and so he just grabs on tight to Derek and tries to taste every warm soft slick part of his mouth.
Derek yanks Stiles away with the kind of back of the neck grip that Stiles is suddenly very worried he's seen Derek use on the baby wolves and -
“Are you ok with this?” Derek asks.
“Am I - ” Stiles says, shaking his head a few times like the answer is obvious, but just in case it's not, he says, “Yeah.”
“I'm not kidding around, Stiles, is this ok with you?”
“Why are you asking me like you're afraid you're taking advantage of me?” Stiles asks. Derek just stares back at him.
“Oh,” Stiles says.
Derek's expression is blank and kind of angry as usual, but his eyes saying something very sad. “Oh,” Stiles says again, pieces clicking into place, and so much makes sense now, so much about Derek, and compromise.
“Show me what this means,” Stiles says. His hand covers Derek's on his hip and Derek's fingers squeeze like they had the first time tonight when he told Stiles to go back to sleep. “Because I'm not sure, ok, it could mean a lot, so show me what you mean.”
Derek brushes his nose up Stiles' throat, kisses and then sucks hard at the spot just under his jaw, squeezes his hand hard on Stiles' hip, and then lifts Stiles on top of him. Derek slides his hands up under Stiles' t-shirt, along his back, and it presses Stiles closer, so their chests are touching, so their hips are lined up and, fuck, fuck -
Derek kisses Stiles with one hand on the small of Stiles' back and the other on Stiles' neck, thumb stroking down Stiles' spine. Stiles is making noises he can't help, muffled against Derek's mouth, between kisses, and he just wants more, more, keeps chasing Derek's mouth, and Derek is so quiet, so quiet even in his breathing, and Stiles wants to know, wants to touch, wants to convince himself this is real because Derek's too still, and Stiles slides his hands down Derek's chest, down his ribs and the taut muscles of his stomach and Derek groans, loud and real, Derek grabs Stiles tight and rolls them onto their sides again, and Stiles likes this angle, because he can push up on his elbow and kiss Derek deep.
Derek pulls open Stiles' jeans and tugs down his zipper and Stiles squeaks and bites down on his own tongue.
“Can I?” Derek says, a little bit of the smartass there in an echo of earlier, as he tugs down the waistband of Stiles' boxers.
“Yeah,” Stiles says, breathless, tonguing at his swollen lips. “But I think I should be clear about the fact that I'm probably going to come as soon as you touch me,” Stiles says, and then closes his eyes, because jesus, did he just say that? It's not like it isn't the truth, but -
“Show me,” Derek leans up and whispers against his ear, and Stiles whites out for a second at the promise in those words whispered right against his ear, and then Derek's hand is wrapping around his cock.
“Fuck, ungh, ungh,” Stiles says, and those were supposed to be words, something like hot or good, or, “ahhh,” Stiles says, thrusts up into Derek's hand, hot and rough and overwhelming. Derek swipes his thumb over the crown of Stiles' cock and that's it, that's really it, Stiles comes so hard he doesn't realize until after his cock goes soft that he's biting opened mouthed against Derek's bare shoulder. He's left teeth marks. He licks at them, and Derek shudders.
“Sorry,” Stiles murmurs.
“For what?” Derek says.
“For having no stamina? For biting you?”
“You're sorry for biting me,” Derek says.
“You're doing it again,” Stiles says, still wobbling and boneless and knowing he's mumbling, now against the crook of Derek's arm. “That thing where I can't tell if you're just repeating what I say.”
Derek's arms tighten around Stiles, and then Derek shifts and Stiles kind of slumps back on the pillow. It's warm and smells like Derek.
“Gahhhh,” Stiles says, another sound he thinks was maybe going to be a word, some time ago, before it came out of his mouth. Derek's licking along Stiles' stomach, over his hipbones, the crease of Stiles' hips. “Derek, Derek, you're going to give me a heart attack, I'm too young to die of a heart attack,” Stiles rambles.
“You're sorry for biting me,” Derek says again, and then he licks Stiles' already half-hard cock.
“I - I - ” Stiles says, as Derek sucks on Stiles' inner thigh. And Stiles kind of loses whatever is left of his mind Derek takes Stiles' cock in his mouth. He's still sensitive from coming the first time, but it's always better the second time, and by better, he means when he jerks off after school, the first time to take the edge off, the second to really slow down and savor it but he's never - no one's ever -
“Shit, Derek, ah, your mouth, ah, god, your mouth is, I can't - I can't - ” And just when Stiles starts to feel his balls draw up, Derek flips them over, so Stiles is pressed up against Derek again, like when they were first kissing, but there's one major difference, ok, two major differences. Stiles' has kicked off his pants and Derek is naked, his hot, hard cock pressed against Stiles' stomach.
Derek wraps his hand around both of their cocks, and that's not a feeling he'd ever thought he'd get to experience, his cock against someone else's cock, against Derek's cock, slick with precome.
“Bite me harder this time when you come,” Derek says, and Stiles' cock jerks in his hand, throbbing and ready.
“You are insane,” Stiles says. “You're a crazy werewolf. A crazy - ” but he does like Derek asks, bites down hard on Derek's shoulder as his orgasm rocks him, leaving him trembling and shuddering. And Derek, oh god, Derek is thrusting up against Stiles' stomach, rocking into the wetness of his come, smearing it all over Stiles' stomach. “This is - no one will ever believe me. I don't believe me. You can tell Scott.”
“I won't have to, he'll smell it all over you,” Derek says.
“That's - kind of gross, but maybe a little hot. Maybe a little more than a little.”
“Stiles,” Derek says, and Stiles sucks tentatively at the bite mark he's left on Derek's shoulder.
Derek bucks up hard, pulls Stiles down sharply against him and comes, oh, fuck, Stiles can feel it, feel his cock twitching, feel the warm come spreading between them.
“You can - you can sleep over anytime,” Stiles says.
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Fandom/Pairing: Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles
Rating: Mature
Author's note: PWP, or as I was calling it as I was writing it, a warm-up. Thanks to
ataratah for beta.
It's not long of a distance between Stiles' bedroom window and his bed, but it feels like miles, barefoot miles, barefoot in the snow miles after the Hippalectryon. Because, yeah, they banished a half-horse, half-rooster from the greater Beacon Hills area. They, the pack, and Stiles helped, Stiles did magic and now he's exhausted. If magic's a muscle, he's sprained it, and he needs rest, doctors orders, Derek's orders. Derek's right behind him, making sure he gets home ok even though Stiles always gets home ok, he has no trouble finding home, or climbing in through his bedroom window, or face-planting into his bed.
“You good, Stiles?” Derek asks, closing the window behind them, and tugging closed the curtains, as though they could really keep anything out more dangerous than morning.
“Yeah,” Stiles says, but it's into his pillow and so he tries to wave but, ugh, do his shoulders ache, so he just hopes that Derek understands anyway.
“Ok, I'm just gonna - ” he hears Derek say and he feels the enormous - god how is he so heavy? - weight as Derek falls down on to the bed next to him. Stiles would protest about the invasion of space, or the lack of courtesy, or, you know, even asking if it was ok to lie down in Stiles' bed with Stiles, except that Stiles is just too tired, and it seems like by the way that Derek is making his mattress dip that maybe Derek is fucking exhausted too, in an exhausted werewolf sort of way, and Stiles just does not have a dram of energy to spare for a protest or a snarky comment before he's out.
He wakes with the sun too bright behind the curtains; he's missing school. Well, whatever, he saved all his classmates and teachers and the school board and whoever from a mythical creature last night, he can take the day off. He closes his eyes and reaches to pull the sheets up over him and - that's an arm, that's an arm attached to a person, in his bed -
Not a person. Well, a person, but not, uh - Derek. Derek is fast asleep. Stiles lets out a slow, loud exhalation of relief that it's not the Hippalectryon or a dead body. And how sad is his life that he wakes up and the first thing he thinks when he sees there's another person in his bed is that it could be a dead body, and not someone he hooked up with last night. Dead body, yeah, Stiles, good job.
Ok, but, Derek is in his bed and he's hogging all the sheets. Stiles tugs, and tugs, and tugs ones more time, and manages to gain a few inches, and fine, fine, he's just going to close his eyes and pretend that nothing at all is different, because it's his bed and he's sleeping in today, regardless of whether or not there's a werewolf in it with him.
Stiles wakes again maybe an hour later, brain-foggy and confused. He blinks, trying to figure out where he is, when he is, why there's a hand on his hip -
What -
Stiles blinks and blinks and - ok, Derek's hand is definitely on his hip, and Derek has to be asleep because - because - Derek's hand tightens, fingers digging in, nails catching at Stiles' jeans, he fell asleep with his jeans on and maybe this is werewolf dreaming and Derek's chasing dream rabbits- shit, how is he going to get out of this? Options. Options that don't end with Derek waking up and realizing he's been clutching at Stiles' hip in his sleep and of course it's all Stiles' fault. Options! He can wake and stretch ridiculously - no, that might scare him, what if he wolfs out when he's scared, what if he doesn't realize he's in Stiles' bed and thinks Stiles is a threat or a rabbit -
“Stiles,” Derek growls and Stiles jumps, he really does, he's like inches in the air above his bed, but when he comes back down - Derek's hand is still on his hip.
“Hi,” Stiles stammers out. “Hi Derek, good morning!”
“Go back to sleep,” Derek says.
“Yeah, ok,” Stiles says, but his eyes are still open.
“Stiles,” Derek says, and Stiles jumps again. Derek's hand tightens on his hip. “That was a bad fight. You need rest.”
“No, I just need Adderall,” Stiles says. Derek sighs, and it tickles the back of Stiles' neck.
“Ok, ok, I'll just - “ Stiles says, and he stills for ten seconds, at least, and then he twitches.
Because, ok, it's Derek. Maybe Stiles accidentally fell for a grumpy werewolf after they keep saving each others' lives so often that he lost count, but Derek doesn't do anything accidentally. Like how he's touching Stiles now, it's not incidental, it's possessive, and as soon as that word sticks in his head, he knows he's never going back to sleep until he knows.
“I just have to ask, the uh - the hand - thing,” Stiles says. Derek's hand twitches. “Is this a protective thing, like a pack thing? Because of the threat last night. I mean, it did almost eat me, but it gave me the chance to - ”
Derek's mouth is scary hot against the back of Stiles' neck, just at his hairline. Stiles is pretty sure he's going to get hard in, like, two seconds, fear of Derek's teeth or not.
“So it's a pack thing,” Stiles says. “This is anger, right? Protective....anger?”
“It's a compromise,” Derek says, so quietly, and Stiles is so distracted by the way Derek's lips brush against neck that it takes him a moment to understand the words.
“What about it is compromise?” Stiles says.
Derek just grunts.
“I don't get it, that’s all, and I want to get it, because I kind of like it, but - this. What is this?” Stiles says, and his fingers brush over Derek's knuckles, once, then twice. Stiles can feel Derek holding his breath, then exhaling it, warm against Stiles' neck, and he shivers.
“It's all I'm allowed,” Derek says.
Stiles' heart hammers. He knows Derek can hear it. Someone who wasn't a werewolf could hear it. Mrs. Gossler down the street could hear it.
So. The flirting. It's really been - flirting. Not just Stiles' awkward crush and Derek's - Derek-ness. And Scott's rolled eyes and Allison's giggles and Lydia's blithe comments about people who just don't know what to do with their mouths. But no one ever said anything specific. And no one ever asked Stiles what he thought was going on. He's not sure he would have had an answer.
“You could just - ask,” Stiles says, swallowing hard. “If that's the problem. You could ask if you're allowed.”
“Can I?” Derek says, like those two words are the hardest thing ever.
“Yes,” Stiles says, without bothering to wait to see if Derek's going to get any more specific.
Derek makes a pained noise and then licks Stiles' throat, from the nape of his neck to right under his ear. Stiles whimpers, he really does. And that's it, Stiles thinks, he's been licked by a werewolf, that's it, now he's been marked part of the pack or something and -
Derek does it again, a long, hot swipe of his tongue, and Stiles kind of loses track of his thoughts or words or anything that's not Derek's tongue, which is tracing the shell of his ear.
“Nnggaahh,” Stiles says, and Derek presses his nose behind Stiles' ear, takes a deep inhale, and then mouths along Stiles' jaw. Soft lips and rough tongue and hot breath and fuck, Stiles can't pretend there's any fear left, he's just laying in bed with Derek, letting Derek kiss his fucking neck and trying not to rock his ass back into Derek's cock.
Derek pulls away like he has some sort of werewolf telepathy and he read the raw lust running through Stiles' brain like it's a scrolling LED sign. The spot where his hand had been on Stiles' hip this whole time burns hot and then cold and then hot again.
“Huh,” Stiles gasps out. “What - I mean, what - ”
“I'll go, just give me a minute,” Derek says. Stiles flops over to look at Derek, who's sitting, board straight on his back, both his hands pressed over his face, looking like he has the biggest headache in the world. He's shirtless. Stiles watches his chest as it rises and falls with his breath.
“No, you're not going anywhere until you kiss me like a person,” Stiles says, surprising both of them. Derek's hands fall away from his face fast, hitting the mattress on either side of him with a loud thump that with a little more power behind it could have snapped his bed frame. “If you want,” Stiles adds, because Derek has his frowny face on again.
“If I want,” Derek repeats.
“I mean, it's not conditional, it's not like you can't leave until you kiss me, it's just that - your mouth, on my neck, it kind of seem like you wanted - ”
“I wanted - ” Derek says.
“Look, are you just repeating things I say?” Derek says nothing and Stiles says, “Ok, maybe not.”
They're both silent.
“So is that a no? Because then I'd like to pretend that I never asked that question, in fact, I'd like to pretend this never happened, unless the licking was some sort of pack thing, and that's fine, if it's for the pack, then - ”
“It's not about the pack,” Derek says.
“Oh,” Stiles says, “ok, that doesn't really answer any of my questions.”
“Were there actually any questions in there?”
“So you're a smartass too now, huh?”
Derek, predictably, says nothing. Stiles reaches out a finger and traces the line of muscle of Derek's abs. Derek's hands clench in the sheets. Stiles' hand doesn't get slapped away.
“Ok, fine,” Stiles says, and he looms over Derek a moment before he can figure out how to get the angle right, and then he presses his lips to Derek's mouth, which is already kind of half-open in shock or werewolf breath control, and Stiles closes his eyes and tenses for the moment when he's sailing through the air and crashing into his desk. He hopes that his laptop is closed, so maybe it will survive the impact.
Stiles opens his eyes when the shove doesn’t come. Derek is staring up at him. Stiles' bottom lip is still pressed to Derek's, and Stiles moves his mouth just a little, half-formed word of a kiss, while they're looking into each others' eyes, too close and too intense. Then Derek kisses him back, and Stiles' eyes fall closed without him meaning to as Derek's hot mouth opens beneath his, as Derek slips his slick lips against Stiles' lips, closing in on his bottom lip, letting go. His tongue laving his bottom lip, then the top, then the bottom, then -
Derek pulls Stiles close, and rolls then both on their side, and grabs the back of Stiles' neck and just - pulls Stiles' head where he wants it to be, tilts his head and kisses deep deep deep into Stiles' mouth and Stiles goes light-headed and kind of feverishly hot all over because he was not ready for this, he was not ready for this at all. For this kind of assault, this sure movement of Derek Hale next to him on his bed, kissing him like breathing doesn't matter, like he doesn't care if Stiles fucking comes in his pants.
Derek groans and Stiles feels it against his lips, in his teeth, in his cock, and he grabs onto Derek's biceps and slides his hands over the muscle, and tries to kiss back for all he's worth, but his wallet is kind of empty right now, and so he just grabs on tight to Derek and tries to taste every warm soft slick part of his mouth.
Derek yanks Stiles away with the kind of back of the neck grip that Stiles is suddenly very worried he's seen Derek use on the baby wolves and -
“Are you ok with this?” Derek asks.
“Am I - ” Stiles says, shaking his head a few times like the answer is obvious, but just in case it's not, he says, “Yeah.”
“I'm not kidding around, Stiles, is this ok with you?”
“Why are you asking me like you're afraid you're taking advantage of me?” Stiles asks. Derek just stares back at him.
“Oh,” Stiles says.
Derek's expression is blank and kind of angry as usual, but his eyes saying something very sad. “Oh,” Stiles says again, pieces clicking into place, and so much makes sense now, so much about Derek, and compromise.
“Show me what this means,” Stiles says. His hand covers Derek's on his hip and Derek's fingers squeeze like they had the first time tonight when he told Stiles to go back to sleep. “Because I'm not sure, ok, it could mean a lot, so show me what you mean.”
Derek brushes his nose up Stiles' throat, kisses and then sucks hard at the spot just under his jaw, squeezes his hand hard on Stiles' hip, and then lifts Stiles on top of him. Derek slides his hands up under Stiles' t-shirt, along his back, and it presses Stiles closer, so their chests are touching, so their hips are lined up and, fuck, fuck -
Derek kisses Stiles with one hand on the small of Stiles' back and the other on Stiles' neck, thumb stroking down Stiles' spine. Stiles is making noises he can't help, muffled against Derek's mouth, between kisses, and he just wants more, more, keeps chasing Derek's mouth, and Derek is so quiet, so quiet even in his breathing, and Stiles wants to know, wants to touch, wants to convince himself this is real because Derek's too still, and Stiles slides his hands down Derek's chest, down his ribs and the taut muscles of his stomach and Derek groans, loud and real, Derek grabs Stiles tight and rolls them onto their sides again, and Stiles likes this angle, because he can push up on his elbow and kiss Derek deep.
Derek pulls open Stiles' jeans and tugs down his zipper and Stiles squeaks and bites down on his own tongue.
“Can I?” Derek says, a little bit of the smartass there in an echo of earlier, as he tugs down the waistband of Stiles' boxers.
“Yeah,” Stiles says, breathless, tonguing at his swollen lips. “But I think I should be clear about the fact that I'm probably going to come as soon as you touch me,” Stiles says, and then closes his eyes, because jesus, did he just say that? It's not like it isn't the truth, but -
“Show me,” Derek leans up and whispers against his ear, and Stiles whites out for a second at the promise in those words whispered right against his ear, and then Derek's hand is wrapping around his cock.
“Fuck, ungh, ungh,” Stiles says, and those were supposed to be words, something like hot or good, or, “ahhh,” Stiles says, thrusts up into Derek's hand, hot and rough and overwhelming. Derek swipes his thumb over the crown of Stiles' cock and that's it, that's really it, Stiles comes so hard he doesn't realize until after his cock goes soft that he's biting opened mouthed against Derek's bare shoulder. He's left teeth marks. He licks at them, and Derek shudders.
“Sorry,” Stiles murmurs.
“For what?” Derek says.
“For having no stamina? For biting you?”
“You're sorry for biting me,” Derek says.
“You're doing it again,” Stiles says, still wobbling and boneless and knowing he's mumbling, now against the crook of Derek's arm. “That thing where I can't tell if you're just repeating what I say.”
Derek's arms tighten around Stiles, and then Derek shifts and Stiles kind of slumps back on the pillow. It's warm and smells like Derek.
“Gahhhh,” Stiles says, another sound he thinks was maybe going to be a word, some time ago, before it came out of his mouth. Derek's licking along Stiles' stomach, over his hipbones, the crease of Stiles' hips. “Derek, Derek, you're going to give me a heart attack, I'm too young to die of a heart attack,” Stiles rambles.
“You're sorry for biting me,” Derek says again, and then he licks Stiles' already half-hard cock.
“I - I - ” Stiles says, as Derek sucks on Stiles' inner thigh. And Stiles kind of loses whatever is left of his mind Derek takes Stiles' cock in his mouth. He's still sensitive from coming the first time, but it's always better the second time, and by better, he means when he jerks off after school, the first time to take the edge off, the second to really slow down and savor it but he's never - no one's ever -
“Shit, Derek, ah, your mouth, ah, god, your mouth is, I can't - I can't - ” And just when Stiles starts to feel his balls draw up, Derek flips them over, so Stiles is pressed up against Derek again, like when they were first kissing, but there's one major difference, ok, two major differences. Stiles' has kicked off his pants and Derek is naked, his hot, hard cock pressed against Stiles' stomach.
Derek wraps his hand around both of their cocks, and that's not a feeling he'd ever thought he'd get to experience, his cock against someone else's cock, against Derek's cock, slick with precome.
“Bite me harder this time when you come,” Derek says, and Stiles' cock jerks in his hand, throbbing and ready.
“You are insane,” Stiles says. “You're a crazy werewolf. A crazy - ” but he does like Derek asks, bites down hard on Derek's shoulder as his orgasm rocks him, leaving him trembling and shuddering. And Derek, oh god, Derek is thrusting up against Stiles' stomach, rocking into the wetness of his come, smearing it all over Stiles' stomach. “This is - no one will ever believe me. I don't believe me. You can tell Scott.”
“I won't have to, he'll smell it all over you,” Derek says.
“That's - kind of gross, but maybe a little hot. Maybe a little more than a little.”
“Stiles,” Derek says, and Stiles sucks tentatively at the bite mark he's left on Derek's shoulder.
Derek bucks up hard, pulls Stiles down sharply against him and comes, oh, fuck, Stiles can feel it, feel his cock twitching, feel the warm come spreading between them.
“You can - you can sleep over anytime,” Stiles says.
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