Teen Wolf fic: Stupid Scott (Sterek NC-17 PWP smut fluff)

[the_diggler]

Title: Stupid Scott {also at AO3}
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/Characters: Derek/Stiles, Scott
Genre: PWP smut, humor, fluff
Warnings: Feral!Derek, Possessive!Derek, first!time, knotting, oral sex, rimming, atm, comeplay, scent!kink, scent marking, mating.
Word Count: 3.6k
Summary: When Stiles meets consciousness again, it’s with a bone-deep groan. For several reasons. One – Because he’s still exhausted, but his dick is, once again, wide awake and raring to go. Two – see above - his dick is hard. And how is he supposed to prevent the kind of sounds that come out of his mouth when he’s half-asleep and horny? And oh yeah – Three – because there’s a stupid werewolf in his bed, nosing at said dick, stealing little licks and snuffling at the dried come on Stiles’ skin.
Author's Notes: sequel to Stupid Derek (but not entirely necessary to read the first). Now with twice as much smut and stupidity. Because apparently that's what happens when there are feelings involved ;p
Disclaimer: Teen Wolf ain't mine. I just borrow for smutography.



~

“Dude, you reek of Derek!” Scott exclaims when he sees Stiles at school. “What the hell happened? It smells like he rubbed himself all over you or something!”

Which is, well, pretty much exactly what had happened. Bodily fluids included. But that’s not something the entire student body needs to hear. Stupid Scott.

“Jesus,” Stiles hisses, dragging Scott around a more secluded corner. “You couldn’t have said that any louder, could you, Scotty? I don’t think the lunch lady heard you.”

“But… dude,” Scott whines, grimacing at Stiles’ body like he can actually see where Derek came all over him. And Stiles has showered since then! Many times! Gah. Stupid werewolves and their stupid, stupid sense of smell. Guess there’s no way out of this one.

“Okay,” Stiles sighs, biting the bullet. “So. Derek. And me. That is a thing that may have happened.”

“What?!” Scott bellows, eyes flashing dangerously.

“Shhh!” Stiles hisses again, gesturing at him to calm down. Scott snaps his mouth shut, but he doesn’t look happy about it, grabbing Stiles’ wrist and pulling him further down the hall.

“He didn’t--“ Scott hesitates, his glare darkening. “Did he force himself on you?” he hisses.

“What? No!” Stiles exclaims. “Well, maybe a little.”

Scott growls.

“But it was totally consensual!” Stiles hastens to add. “So, very, consensual,” he grins, sounding more than a little dopey, even to his own ears.

“Ew,” Scott makes a face. “I don’t want to know,” he shudders. But at least he doesn’t look like he’s going to kill anyone anymore.

“Ignorance is bliss, my man,” Stiles says, clapping Scott on the back. “With emphasis on bliss,” he smirks, waggling his eyebrows.

“Ugh,” Scott shudders again, and Stiles chuckles, heading back towards the main hallway.

“Okay… but… Derek? Really?” Scott whines as he trails after Stiles, completely reverting to his natural puppy-dog state.

“Yes, Derek. I have eyes, Scott. And Derek is like, a ten on the Richter scale of devastatingly hot,” Stiles says. “And I know he’s been a dick to us at times, but I thought we’d moved past that. It was just his… stupid werewolfy way of trying to protect us. And to be fair, we were dicks to him too.”

Scott grimaces at that, before his frown turns into something more considering – which Stiles knows from experience means nothing but trouble. “Wait a minute,” Scott finally says. “Did he knot you?”

“Did he what now?” Stiles stops in his tracks. “Is that even a thing werewolves do?”

“Well… sometimes?” Scott fidgets, unable to meet his eyes.

“Sometimes,” Stiles echoes.

“When there are… feelings… involved?”

“Feelings,” Stiles echoes again, his gut sinking. “Why doesn’t anyone tell me these things?” he tries not to shriek.

“It’s kind of private,” Scott shrugs. “And besides, I’m telling you now!” he adds as an afterthought.

Stiles rolls his eyes and huffs, stalking off to class. Stupid Scott.

~

The thing is, the more Stiles thinks about it, the worse that sinking feeling in his gut gets. Sure, there were orgasms. And come. So much come. Stiles remembers Derek coming a lot. And making Stiles come a hell of a lot too. Derek also really seemed to get off on playing with it, tasting it, scenting it – scenting him… In fact, Derek was damn near feral when he snarled his way through Stiles’ window, interrupting Stiles when he was two fingers deep (and maybe moaning Derek’s name at the time). But Stiles doesn’t remember any… other werewolfy things happening that night.

So, okay, maybe it doesn’t happen every time. But what does Scott know about it? Was that kind of information passed down during Argent hunter-training as well? Ew. As if the parental sex-talk wasn’t already awkward enough. But Stiles can’t imagine Scott would’ve gone to Derek to ask. (Or even – Stiles thinks with a shudder of revulsion – Peter). And if by some chance he did, Stiles can’t imagine Derek being very forthcoming about it. The stupid, conversationally-challenged werewolf. So if Stiles is going to learn anything about it, he’s going to have to do it the old-fashioned way: on the wide world of the interwebs.

Only that seems to turn up a lot more smut than it does any real information. Stupid werewolves and their stupid need for secrecy.

Stiles checks some of it out anyway, though. Purely out of curiosity, of course. He figures if he can at least find any patterns or recurring themes, there might be some underlying fact to it… But, well, porn is porn. And in the space of two hours Stiles has to frantically jerk himself off three times, before he finally passes out, too exhausted to wipe off the mess of drying come on his stomach and all over his hand.

Stupid werewolves and their stupidly hot werewolf anatomy.

~

When Stiles meets consciousness again, it’s with a bone-deep groan. For several reasons.

One – Because he’s still exhausted, but his dick is, once again, wide awake and raring to go.

Two – see above - his dick is hard. And how is he supposed to prevent the kind of sounds that come out of his mouth when he’s half-asleep and horny? Good thing it’s probably late enough that his dad’s already left for another night shift, judging by how dark it is. Because, yeah, that would’ve been embarrassing otherwise.

And oh yeah – Three – because there’s a stupid werewolf in his bed, nosing at said dick, stealing little licks and snuffling at the dried come on Stiles’ skin.

Jesus.

“You really like that, don’t you?” Stiles murmurs groggily, reaching down to stroke the back of Derek’s head. Derek jerks away at the movement though, and for a second Stiles thinks he’s overstepped or something, but then Derek nuzzles into Stiles’ palm, and Stiles remembers the drying come there as well.

“Yeah, you like that,” Stiles chuckles, splaying his fingers to give Derek better access when he starts licking between them. And oooh, that’s nice. Stiles shivers at the sensation, and his eyes may or may not roll back into his head a little, but when Derek starts sucking, Stiles’ vision snaps back into focus, unable to look away. Derek’s mouth is warm, and wet, and Stiles’ dick throbs at the memory of being inside it, the laving tongue on his fingers all too good a reminder.

He’d almost think Derek was teasing him with it – seems like something the stupid sourwolf would do, smirking up at him through his lashes as he tortures Stiles with his mouth and lips and-- No, Stiles hasn’t fantasized about that at all. But this is Derek in his stupid feral mode again; a wolf with a mission.

A mission to claim every last drop of come off of Stiles’ skin.

And thankfully, that means as soon as Derek is done with Stiles’ hand, his mouth goes right back on Stiles’ cock.

This time, Stiles’ eyes do roll into the back of his head, with another bone-deep groan, because fuck, that’s good. And he doesn’t even feel a little bit bad about fisting his (now clean) hand into Derek’s hair, thrusting up into that relentless suction, because yeah, feral wolves are stupid and clearly don’t mind about these things. In fact, the stupid feral-wolf seems to like it. And hey, anything to help along the mission.

Stiles can’t hold him there for long, though (stupid werewolf strength), and as soon as Derek’s done with Stiles’ dick he moves on to the skin around it, below it, suckling Stiles’ balls before lapping at the skin between his thighs. Stiles eagerly helpfully spreads his legs as Derek noses down even lower… but that’s when things come to an abrupt halt. (Gah! Why? Oh yeah. Because of the stupid!)

Stiles eyes snap open to see Derek frowning down at his erection, half-confused, half-glaring at it for not producing more tasty, tasty come. It would almost be funny, if Stiles weren’t so goddamn horny. But before he can decide whether to laugh or start yelling, Derek thankfully works out the solution to the problem – which is, to make more come. Derek promptly spits on his hand, grabs Stiles’ dick in his fist, and plunges his tongue into Stiles’ hole.

Okay, so maybe Derek isn’t as stupid as Stiles’ thought.

Nope. He’s a goddamn genius, because Christ almighty God in Heaven that is amazing. So much better than Stiles’ remembers. This isn’t going to last long at all.

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles manages to garble at the last second, “M’gonna come!”

Even after his marathon jerk-off session earlier that afternoon, he still busts his nut so hard, come flies everywhere, all the way up to his neck.

Which Derek then promptly smushes his face into.

Like, seriously, Stiles is momentarily winded by how hard Derek smacks his face into it.

Does he really have to say it?

Yes. Yes, he totally does.

Stupid. Feral. Werewolf.

And it’s like Stiles’ come is wolfnip or something, the way Derek is smearing himself in it, getting it all over his face and lips and body and… yep, that’s Derek’s cock, rubbing hard and hot through the slick between Stiles’ legs.

Stiles huffs a breathless laugh, come-drunk and helpless against the onslaught, his limbs splaying into his best impersonation of a starfish as he lets Derek have his way. Seriously, Derek could do anything to him right now, and Stiles would let him, that’s how utterly sated and relaxed he feels-- no, wait, anything but rub his beard across Stiles’ nipple, because that shit tickles. Stiles flails back into alertness with a yelp and a giggle, shoving Derek away from his chest.

To Stiles’ surprise, Derek lets himself be shoved. Even while feral. And stupid. But not without giving Stiles the most pitiful whine he’s ever heard, hurt and confused and with puppy-dog eyes to rival even Scott’s.

“Hey, no,” Stiles flounders at that, doing the first thing he can think of to erase that look from Derek’s face. “C’mere, big guy,” he smiles, scooping his fingers through the mess on his chest and holding it up to Derek’s lips. He doesn’t know why Derek hasn’t devoured the stuff already, deciding to, well, take a bath in the stuff instead. But then again, Stiles’ isn’t sure if that was an actual decision to be made or if it was just some weird (stupid) werewolf mating instinct or ritual or whatever the hell is happening right now.

(He supposes Scott would know. And yeah, Stiles is comfortable enough with himself to know that he’s not entirely comfortable with the idea that Scott might know more than him about anything. But given that between the two of them, Scott is an actual werewolf, Stiles might be able to let it slide this time.)

Except, Derek doesn’t seem to be taking the bait-- come-- wolfnip-- whatever. His entire body is tensed on the verge of pouncing, heaving hard like it’s taking all his control not to, and he’s licking his lips, eyeing Stiles’ hand like it’s all he wants in the entire universe… So Stiles’ closes the distance, tracing his come-covered fingertips across Derek’s lips, rubbing them onto Derek’s tongue.

Derek freezes, his eyes going wide and shell-shocky like the last time Stiles took the initiative with Derek’s weird little fetish or ritual or foreplay or (all of the above?) whatever-the-hell with all the come-swapping. He goes so still, Stiles doesn’t think he even breathes. Doesn’t think he’s even aware that his tongue is curling inside his mouth, tasting and swallowing Stiles’ come. And then, just like last time, Derek goes nuts. His eyes flash, his nostrils flare, he bares his teeth and snarls, “Mine,” as he lunges for Stiles’ mouth.

“Mmmph,” Stiles replies intelligently.

Obviously all higher brain functions ceased to exist within the time-space bubble of Stiles’ bedroom the moment Stiles typed the words ‘werewolf’ and ‘knot’ into his laptop.

Obviously.

Because in the normal, sane, space-time continuum, there is no way Derek would actually be… purring.

Okay, so maybe it’s not so much purring as it is… happy growling? Is that even a thing? It’s like Derek’s snarl never stopped, just eased off into a low, rumbling sound in his chest, continuous and content as he noses and licks at the skin of Stiles’ neck. And now there’s giggling. What the… No, wait, that’s Stiles. He has sensitive skin okay? And has he mentioned that Derek’s beard tickles? The stupid, scruffy… nerfwolf? wereherder? (Stiles glares at the Han Solo poster in his room).

It’s not like either one of them is really capable of backing off now though. That might prove a little hard when things are getting so… well, hard. (Yeah, it was just too easy to go there.) Stiles can actually feel Derek’s claws this time, scraping lightly against the skin of his shoulders, so he knows Derek’s already holding back as it is. But his grip’s still tight enough that Stiles knows he’s going to have bruises tomorrow anyway. And while the thought of that alone is probably enough to start getting Stiles hard, again, mostly it’s the feeling of Derek’s cock pressing between his legs, rubbing hot and hard against Stiles’ hole and catching on its rim with every insistent thrust.

“Mine,” Derek growls again, the tip of his dick already sinking into Stiles’ hole, and Stiles just opens up for him. He’s still loose and wet from Derek’s tongue, and Derek’s cock is covered in all the come he’s been rubbing against, so at this stage, there’s nowhere else it’s going but in.

“Yeah Derek, take what you need,” Stiles gasps in response, nodding frantically. He wraps his arms around Derek’s neck, his legs around Derek’s waist, and thrusts his hips up to meet him.

And this really isn’t how Stiles imagined his first time – near comespent and chaffed from jacking off and completely at the mercy of a stupid, feral, werewolf...

Okay, well, maybe it is.

Maybe it’s one of many different scenarios Stiles’ highly-vivid and easily-distracted imagination had envisioned starring himself and one extremely sour stupidwolf.

“Sweet Holy Jesus,” Stiles curses when Derek’s inside him. Because sweet holy jesus Derek’s big, and Stiles’ imagination nowhere near lives up to the reality of how full he feels with Derek inside him. And sweet Mary and Joseph too, he never thought it would feel this good either. Stiles can’t decide whether he wants to start bouncing on Derek’s dick, or if he should brace himself for the inevitable feral wolf-fuck that’s surely about to commence any moment now

Any moment

Nope.

To Stiles’ surprise, that is when Derek seems to snap out of it – when he’s balls deep inside Stiles’ body, with Stiles panting and squirming for more.

“Stiles,” Derek breathes, sounding shell-shocked again, and with a little more coherent confusion this time. But there’s something like awe in there too. Something that makes Stiles’ already-rapid heartbeat skip and jump wildly in his chest when he hears it.

Aw hell.

So what if Derek doesn’t knot him? There’s definitely something there. Stiles may not know exactly what that something is, but he knows it exists in the gentle way Derek begins fucking him, touching him, looking at him. And Stiles never really imagined his first time being like this either – he’d hoped it might be, but he’d never really expected he’d be so lucky. He’d expected fumbling and awkwardness, embarrassment and a little pain-- well, the pain is there, but he didn’t expect it would make the pleasure all that sharper, make him want more, make him clutch and grab onto Derek’s body, arching up to take him deeper.

It seems like all too soon Stiles is ready blow again. (Teenager, hello! He has hormones, and stamina. Not to mention the serious devirginization that’s taking place right now.) It simply can’t be helped. He tries to tell Derek, to reach his hand down between the tight press of their bodies to finish himself off, but Derek bats his hand away, taking Stiles’ cock in his own and growling, “Mine.”

“Oh fuck yes Derek!” Stiles shouts, coming hard, all over Derek’s fist. And Derek gently fucks him through it, milking every last drop out of him in the firm circle of his fingers.

Well, maybe not every last drop. Because when Derek then raises that hand to his own lips, sucking Stiles’ come off his fingers, Stiles is pretty sure a few more spurts twitch out of his tip. Hell, if he had any more left in him he might’ve even come again, because watching Derek do that while he’s still inside Stiles is just… just… come-worthy, dammit.

And if that had somehow failed to make Stiles produce more come? Then the feeling of Derek’s dick beginning to swell inside Stiles sure as hell would’ve.

“Mine,” Derek rasps, Stiles’ come practically dripping off his lips. And Stiles doesn’t care that it’s obviously made Derek stupid again, because he wants to rub that come into Derek’s mouth, kiss him so deep he can taste himself on Derek’s tongue, and split himself wide, wide open on Derek’s knot.

“Yeah c’mon, give it to me Derek,” Stiles mewls, reaching for Derek’s lips to start doing all those things. But that’s when Derek pulls away, easing himself out of Stiles with a punched-out snarl of frustration like it’s the last the he wants to do, but he does it anyway! Stupid, stupid Derek, Stiles wants to scream. But as he takes a breath to do just that, Derek presses himself against Stiles’ body again, stealing that breath from his lips as he rubs himself into the flesh of Stiles’ hip.

And okay, Stiles can work with that. Because he can still feel Derek’s knot, forming against his skin, hard and round, and oh god can he touch it? He really wants to touch it. But he doesn’t think he could get a hand between them now if he tried. Besides, maybe it’s too intimate too touch a werewolf’s knot or something.

Oh god back the fuck up there is a knot on Derek’s stupid werewolf dick, which is currently getting off on Stiles’ body. And jesus fuck Stiles thought his dick was finished but nope, that was definitely another aftershock. Complete with what really has to be the last drop of come in Stiles’ body. But apparently it’s still enough for Derek to get a whiff of anyway, because just like that, Derek loses it, grabbing onto Stiles with a snarl and shooting hots spurts of come onto Stiles’ skin.

Stiles doesn’t even care that he’s sticky and gross afterwards, lying underneath Derek’s warm, half-dead weight and their chests glued together with drying sweat and come. Because the long minutes between Derek’s orgasm and his post-coital collapse were spent rubbing that come into Stiles skin. Just like that first time. Thumbing it across Stiles’ nipples, making a trail down his stomach, encircling his over-sensitive cock with loose fingers, rolling across his balls and pushing it gently into Stiles’ hole. And just like that first time, once he’s done marking his territory or whatever the hell he’s doing, Derek finds even more come, and reaches inevitably towards Stiles’ mouth.

Only last time, there was a lot more possessiveness in the way Derek touched him, and the whole process felt more like some kind of victory bath or something. But this time, the possessiveness is toned down a whole lot. It’s still there, but Stiles feels a lot more like he’s being… worshiped or something. So when Derek traces his come-coated fingers across Stiles’ lips, Stiles sucks them easily into his mouth, laving lazily at the digits with a sated grin.

Derek makes that punched out whiny noise again when Stiles does that. So Stiles isn’t surprised when Derek repeats the process, over and over, until Stiles begins to suspect Derek might be nodding off, face mushed into Stiles neck with his fingers still idly rubbing against Stiles tongue.

God that was a lot of come. Again.

That knot is some serious business.

Speaking of which

“Derek?” Stiles murmurs softly, letting Derek’s fingers slip from his mouth. “You alive?”

“Mmm,” Derek rumbles against his chest.

“Not that I’m complaining or anything, because that was pretty fan-fucking-tastic, but…” Oh God is he going to ruin this? Should he just shut up and enjoy the afterglow?

Who is he kidding. This afterglow isn’t going to last now that his curiosity is nagging at him. Even though that’s kind of what got him into this mess (literally!) in the first place.

Okay then, maybe if he doesn’t actually say the word ‘knot’ they might be able to steer clear of the potentially disastrous feelings-conversation.

“…you didn’t have to pull out,” he eventually decides on. Safe enough. But still enough to make Derek consider his response for a heart-stopping moment too long.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Derek finally whispers, and Stiles exhales in relief, feeling warm all over (and not just from the too-warm bodyheat of Derek’s stupid werewolf metabolism).

“I think I wouldn’t mind taking a little pain to feel you come inside me,” Stiles ventures a little further, feeling brave from Derek’s admission.

“When you’re ready, I will,” Derek replies, stroking his thumb across Stiles’ shoulder. “We’ll work up to it.”

And Stiles can definitely work with that. Because ‘working up to it’ implies a lot more stupidly hot werewolf sex with Derek. Who has feelings. About Stiles. Both things he now knows are actual things for real because of Derek’s knot.

Stupid Scott, making Stiles worry for nothing.

~ fin

A/N: This wasn't the sequel I'd originally intended to write, but as usual, some of the feedback on the previous fic inspired something unexpected ;p So that means I still have plans for a least one more fic in the verse, which I promise I'll get to sooner or later!