Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Derek had never liked Mondays.

But getting hit in the head before he’d had his morning coffee was a whole new level of shitty. There’d been pain, then nothing.  

He’d woken up to a massive headache, the taste of blood in his mouth. Not much time had passed, since he hadn’t healed yet.

He was on his back on a cold, hard concrete floor. Leaving someone on their back after giving them a head injury was just asking for them to suffocate in their own vomit. Idiots. Why go through the trouble of catching him if they didn’t care enough to keep him alive?

He listened. There were no heartbeats aside from his own nearby. Whomever had grabbed him had just left him, then. Would they be back? He had no idea, no way to answer the question.

For a moment Derek laid on the floor, orienting himself. He was in a factory of sorts. Judging from the amount of dust and rust on the machines he could see, it hadn’t been in use for quite some time. No chance of anyone stumbling across him by accident, then.

There was a sticky-tight feeling over his mouth, much like the time Laura had roped him into trying a blackhead mask. Opening his mouth to spit out the blood proved impossible.

Derek lifted his hand to move whatever was over his mouth but found the same sticky-tight feeling applied there. He tried again. It hurt but didn’t budge.

What the hell was going on?

Getting his head of the cold floor made it hurt like hell, pain hammering through his skull at the same pace as his heartbeat. Derek glared down his body. He was completely covered in duct tape.

His feet and legs tape together so closely that it was impossible to tell where one began and the other ended.  Layers upon layers of duct tape. He could see silver poking through black, as if whomever had taped him together ran out of one color somewhere in the middle of the process. A thin thread, barely thicker than knitting yarn was bound on top of the tape.

He tried moving his legs, just to feel the duct tape rip at his skin and hair. Someone had removed his pants, then.

To his horror he realized that his groin was completely covered in duct tape as well. Fuck he hoped they’d shown a bit of mercy, leaving his boxers on underneath it.

Derek’s arms were taped against his chest. He tried pushing against the tape again. Still no luck.  

He groaned in annoyance.  The thread had to be made from wolfsbane. The tape should’ve broken otherwise. A bit of duct tape was not enough to hold back a werewolf. He’d broken through more difficult things before no problem.

Ugh. And his scalp itched. The wolfsbane slowed his healing abilities.  

What then? Lie there, wait for help? It was a shit plan, but he wasn’t having many options aside from that. He couldn’t move without causing himself unnecessary pain, nor could he break the tape. Making noise would only be effective if there was someone nearby to alert of his presence.

What a shitty fucking Monday.

…

The sound of familiar heartbeats woke him. He’d drifted off at some point, unable to keep himself awake. His scalp was still itching, his head pounding. There was light filtering through the dirty windows, a more golden hue to it. Late in the day, then.

“Fuck, is he in here? I mean, we’ve looked everywhere, and you were certain at the last building too!”

Ah, Stiles then. And Scott. Of course. Just what he needed.

His and Stiles relationship had gotten better over the years, but he was still a blabbermouth. Derek did not find it hilarious and or adorable. His eyes never lingered when Stiles smiled at him widely, his entire being radiating happiness.

Scott had been holier than thou after learning of his true alpha nature. He’d been an ass, honestly.

Derek did not need either of them to see him duct taped together like a mummy.

He had really hoped it would be his betas that tracked him down. Boyd wouldn’t ask unnecessary questions. Erica would, maybe, wait until he was back home to taunt him. Isaac was a bit of a wild card, but Derek knew he could glare him into submission. He just didn’t like doing it much, was all.

At least he hadn’t pissed himself or something equally embarrassing. Not that he was sure he could, wearing duct tape over his dick as he was, but he was glad that he hadn’t needed to find out.

“He is!”

“But!”

Stop arguing, he thought, staring at the direction of their voices. He moaned something akin to ‘help’ behind the duct tape.

“Listen, can’t you hear him?” Scott argued.

Derek made another sound. Why the hell where they discussing instead of rescuing?

There was a series of loud sounds and groans of pain from Scott, proving exactly why Derek thought he was unworthy of his true alpha nature. Instead of trying something smart, like breaking a window or pry open the lock, he’d thrown himself against a heavy steel door meant to withstand fire.

If he’d been able to Derek would have given Scott a very slow, sarcastic applause for his idiocy.

“Scotty, that’s not gonna work.” Stiles, ever the sensible one. “Lemme.”

There was rattling as Stiles tried to pry open the lock. Derek could hear the mechanisms almost giving in twice, before Stiles stopped. “Dammit.”

“I’ll find a window.” The first smart thing Scott had said. Derek was not impressed. How was Scott supposed to lead betas of his own one day? Clearly he would be unable to managed without Stiles.

Derek waited impatiently as Scotts steps rounded the front of the building. He barely winced as Scott threw himself against one of the windows. Repeatedly.

Scott entered the factory in a blaze of broken glass. It looked straight out of an action movie, the glass reflecting the light from the orange sunlight outside. Scott even managed a decent landing. Derek would’ve been impressed by the style of it all if it wasn’t for the part where Scott had tried to best a steel door first.

Scott hurried to his side. “Are you okay?”

Derek glared at him. Wasn’t the answer obvious by the part where he was covered in duct tape, wolfsbane and had dried blood in his hair?

Scott ripped off the duct tape over Derek’s mouth. Holy hell it hurt. He would take another fifty blackhead masks rather than a repeat of that experience. He half expected all of his facial hair to be covering the duct tape Scott dangled in front of him.

“You stink like wolfsbane,” Scott said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Can’t touch you like that.”

As if Derek wanted Scott to touch him. He would literally rather rip all the duct tape off of himself than that.

“Stiles,” Derek reminded him, in case Scott had lost his brain cells banging through the window and had forgotten that his best friend right outside the door was human and could touch the wolfsbane no problem.

Derek was seriously starting to lose his patience.

“Oh yeah!” Scott beamed at him, leaving Derek to wonder how the hell he hadn’t killed himself by accident by being so incredibly stupid. It was painful to be around sometimes.

He sighed, looking over to the door where Stiles hurried through the door. He too managed to look straight out of an action movie as he entered the building. It was unfair, somehow, that Derek was the damsel in distress, and the awkward duo had come to his rescue.

Stiles had outgrown some of his lanky awkwardness in the past two years, put on some muscle. It looked good on him, shoulders strong and waist slim. The light fell through the door, enhancing everything in the best way possible.

Then he went and ruined the image by tripping over his own feet. Derek suppressed a laugh. That was Stiles for you.

“He’s covered in wolfsbane,” Scott said.

Stiles was by his side in an instant, cutting away with a tiny fold-out knife at the wolfsbane thread until every last bit of it was on the concrete floor.

“Please don’t try to break free of the duct tape just because you can, sourwolf,” Stiles said. “It will hurt like hell. There are better ways.”

Derek, very vividly still had the feeling of the duct tape over his mouth being ripped off, just nodded. If Stiles knew a better way, he was more than happy to go with it. Healing fast didn’t mean it hurt less, and there were limits on how much pain he wanted to endure before he’d even had his first cup of coffee.

“Fine. What.”

“A shower. And a lot of oil.” Stiles winked, a mischievous smile around his lips.

“What!” Derek’s voice pitched higher than he permitted it to do. He wasn’t, what exactly was Stiles suggesting?

“One of us would have to help you, of course,” Stiles continued, refusing to acknowledge Derek’s blatant discomfort. “Seeing as you are covered from head to toe. Me or Scotty? Or would you rather we call one of your beta’s?”

Stiles had to know that his betas was out of the question for something like that. His grin was wide, as if he knew it was an easily won discussion. Derek glared, trying to will Stiles into submission by eyes alone.

Maybe ripping the entire thing off by sheer force was the best option. Erica would laugh her ass off and leave him to deal with it himself. He wasn’t sure what Isaac or Boyd would do, but he wasn’t about to put himself or them in a position to find out.

“You,” he said, because at least Stiles was a marginally better option than Scott. Stiles would at least be pleasing to look at, in the shower, with his t-shirt sticking wetly to his chest, drops of water clinging to his long eyelashes.

Derek blinked the image away. It was not relevant. He would just… not look at Stiles. It was a favor between friends, nothing more. If they even were friends. He wasn’t sure.

“Awesome. Let’s get you into the car then! That will have to be Scott, though, I can’t carry your heavy ass. Not that it’s a bad ass, mind you, but you are like solid muscle and taller than me, and I don’t have any werewolf strength.”

Derek opened his mouth to protest. He would much rather rip the tape off, thank you very much. But before he could say anything, Scott had already lifted him off the floor and was halfway through the building.

He’d never experienced anything so humiliating in his life.

Scott got him inside the car. He was able to bend his back and legs (ouch) enough for it to not be terribly uncomfortable. The seat belt was fastened with a loud click over his body, like he was a child that needed help with that sort of thing.

Derek and Scott's eyes met for a moment. Awkward.

“Thanks,” Derek grumbled. It was probably the proper thing to do, to thank someone when they saved you from pissing yourself on a cold concrete floor in an abandoned factory. Even if Scott would’ve never managed it without the help of Stiles.

Stiles got into the driver's seat, and off they went.

Scott was silent in the back seat. Derek could feel him staring as Stiles chattered away, wild theories about why Derek had been kidnapped.

“There were no aliens,” Derek told him.

“But! What if!”

“No.”

“You said you never saw them! You can’t dismiss my idea without evidence!”

Derek closed his eyes, wondering if he should ask Stiles to call Boyd in for help instead. At least Boyd would be quiet about the whole thing.

The light was fading fast as they drove through town, towards Derek’s loft. He tuned out Stiles’ chatter, allowing Scott to deal with the theories.

Stiles maneuvered the jeep down the steep drive to the parking basement. “Let’s get you out of this, big boy,” Stiles said, gesturing happily to Derek’s duct tape covered body.

Scott carried him out the car, grumbling about Derek being heavy. Derek had seen Scott carry way heavier things than him, and just leveled him with a look. They were alone in the elevator, thankfully. Derek would rather not hear the story Stiles would make up to explain the amount of duct tape he was covered in or how Scott could carry him without breaking a sweat.

How they came by Derek’s keys he had no idea. He meant to ask Stiles about it as he unlocked Derek’s front door, but then Scott maneuvered him around, almost banging his head into the doorframe, and Derek promptly forgot.

Scott carried him through the apartment, into the bathroom. Derek’s face felt hot. He had never in his worst nightmare imagined being carried into his own shower cabin by Scott.

“This is where you leave, Scotty” Stiles said. “Unless you really want to see Derek’s naughty bits. Can’t say I blame you if you do, but I’m like ninety eight percent sure you don’t swing that way.”

Scott was out the door before Stiles had said ‘naughty bits’.

“Everything under control?” Scott yelled through the door.

“Yeah. Not a problem,” Stiles said with laughter in his voice. “It’s not like Derek’s gonna maim me like this.”

Derek breathed out when the front door shut, the lock clicking into place. “I’m sorry,” he said. It wasn’t what he’d meant to say, but the words fell from his lips before he could stop them.

“Sorry? What for, big guy? I assume you didn’t ask to be kidnapped or rolled up like a duct tape mummy. No one asks for that. Or maybe some people do, but you really don’t look like it’s your kind of kink.”

Would some people do that voluntarily? Derek was shaken. They really had to like pain then, because the skin around his mouth was still phantom prickling from the pain of having that tiny bit ripped off.

“I didn’t,” he agreed.

“Yeah, I figured. No apologies necessary, then. You’d do the same if the roles had been reversed.”

Derek felt pretty certain he wouldn’t.

Stiles grabbed the shower handle and turned it away from Derek, letting it run until the water was steaming. “I know you like your showers hot.”

He did, but how Stiles had come by that knowledge was a mystery.

“It will take a while. I have to dissolve the sticky tape parts with water and soap and oil. And then more soap, to get the oil off you.”

Derek groaned.

“Just a reminder that this is gonna be about as awkward for me as it is for you,” Stiles said cheerfully.

Which was a blatant lie, seeing as Derek was the one with his privates covered in duct tape. Stiles would have to touch him there, at some point. Unless he was kind enough to uncover Derek’s arms and back and leave him to deal with it from there.

He closed his eyes as Stiles watered him down. The outer layer of tape went easily enough, not touching his skin. Stiles unraveled it layer by layer, leaving it in a pile by the shower curtain. He’d managed to spray himself several times, the gray t-shirt sticking to his hip and his jeans to his calves. Derek wasn’t sure if he wanted Stiles to get wetter or not. It was entirely possible it would lead to a very uncomfortable situation if it happened before his groin was freed.

“I mean, it’s a whole new level of torture to put duct tape on someone’s balls,” Stiles told him.

Derek nodded his agreement.

“You must really have pissed off whomever did it. You never saw them, did you?”

“No.”

“Hm, too bad,” Stiles said. “There’s blood in your hair. That can’t be comfortable.”

It wasn’t.

“Close your eyes.”

Derek did. Leaned his head back too, so Stiles could wash it. The dried blood was itchy.

“The wound has healed, yeah?”

Derek nodded. It had healed long before Stiles and Scott arrived, even with his healing slowed down by the wolfsbane thread.

He listened to the familiar click of his shampoo as Stiles opened it. The scent was mild, calming. He liked it much better than the heavier scented ones.

Stiles made an approving noise as he squirted shampoo into his hand. Another click, plastic against metal as he placed it back.

“I’m gonna touch you now, big guy,” was all the warning he got before Stiles' agile fingers were in his hair.

Derek wanted to protest, ask Stiles to stop touching him, for the torture to end. He needed his hands free, needed to be able to do it on his own. It should not feel that good to have his hair washed by another human. He was not shivering from the sheer pleasure of Stiles’ fingers rubbing against his scalp, but from the cold air.

Stiles continued longer than technically necessary, slowly rubbing the shampoo in, working gently over the area where his hair was matted with dried blood.

Fuck. Where had Stiles learned to wash hair like that? For once he was mercifully quiet, leaving Derek in the bubble of warm, gentle touches and the scent of him and Stiles mingling in the damp air.

He didn’t whine when Stiles withdrew his fingers, but that was down to sheer stubbornness.

“Bet that feels better.”

Derek opened his eyes to glare daggers at Stiles.

“Lemme just wash out the shampoo, so it doesn’t go into your eyes,” Stiles said.

Derek obediently closed his eyes again, sagging into the contact as Stiles ran a hand through his hair as the water washed out dust and dirt and blood. He was on the verge of begging Stiles for another wash. Just to be certain all the blood was out, he could say.

He schooled his features, held his tongue.

“Don’t be such a sourwolf.”

Derek blinked the water out of his eyes, shaking his head to clear the droplets that kept running down his forehead.

Stiles looked like he wanted to crack a dog joke. Derek shut him up with another look. Grinning, Stiles lifted his hands in mock defeat.

Much to Derek’s dismay, Stiles started with his feet instead of his hands. His knees got wet, kneeling in front of where Derek was seated, slowly clipping at the duct tape so he could get it open and soaked and soaped.

It was a good look on him. Wet and in front of Derek like that. He looked focused.

The showerhead was placed on the holder, letting warm water run down Derek’s head and neck.

He tried looking annoyed as Stiles slowly worked his way up his legs, claiming it was the easier place to start. He alternated between spraying the duct tape down and soaping it up to get the sticky parts loose. His leg hairs were still covered in the sticky remnants, but that was a problem for later. Derek could oil that up and wash it off himself, thank you very much.

Judging from the shit-eating grin Stiles sent him, he was failing at looking annoyed.

“I assume you’d like your junk free as soon as possible?” Stiles said.

“If you’d started with my arms, I could’ve done that myself,” Derek countered.

“I couldn’t get to your arms,” Stiles told him.

Which was probably a blatant lie, but why Stiles wanted to see his dick Derek couldn’t for the life of him phantom. He wasn’t ashamed of what nature had given him; it wasn’t like that. Had it just been a shower, he wouldn’t have minded terribly if Stiles saw him. He wasn’t body shy; the betas had seen his naked ass more times than he could count.

But Stiles looking like that, touching him there?

He’d have to work very, very hard not to react. And while Stiles might understand that it was perfectly natural for someone to react to hands so close to their junk, Derek would rather not experience the situation at all.

Too much time had passed since the last time he’d been touched by anyone not himself. It would get embarrassing so very quickly.

Stiles finally got his knees free, torturously slow working his way up Derek’s thighs. It shouldn’t feel so good to have his soap slick hand run against Derek’s skin. It did.

Derek glared even more; mouth set in a hard, unforgiving line. If his traitorous body reacted before Stiles had cleared his junk… the thought of duct tape ripping the sensitive skin over his dick and balls was enough to curb any lust Derek might have felt.

It was just difficult not to think of Stiles that way, when he was sitting like that, straddling Derek’s legs, pants soaked, t-shirt clinging to his body. Fine mist was collecting in his hair, his long dark lashes.

It was unfair how beautiful he’d grown to be. Derek hated him very, very much in that moment. Had he still looked like a lanky kid it would’ve been way easier to stop that train of thought that kept informing Derek exactly how close Stiles was, how good his hands felt on his skin.

Finally, Stiles had cleared the front of Derek’s thighs.

“You okay?” Stiles asked.

Derek tried to send him another murderous look. Stiles grinned, way too familiar with how Derek looked to take the threat of bodily harm in his eyes seriously.

“You know, you can use words instead of eyebrows to communicate. Just, don’t move, okay?”

Derek opened his mouth to tell Stiles that the only thing he could move was his toes but thought better and closed it again.

Stiles watered down his crotch, soaping his hand back up. “I’ll be gentle, okay?” he said. Which was exactly what Derek was afraid of. If he just ripped off the duct tape, there was no danger of him reacting. But so far Stiles’ touch had felt good, and Derek had no doubt that it would be equally good on his dick, fondling his balls to clear the tape.

“Yeah,” Derek rasped. He was so utterly fucked.

He closed his eyes and thought very unsexy thoughts of Scott in compromising positions as Stiles started to clear the tape from his hips, slowly peeling it away as he altered between water and soap.

He thought about dead animals.

About… about… anything but the hands just around his junk, slowly working the tape free.

He opened his eyes to look how far Stiles had gotten.

It was a mistake.

Stiles had freed his dick, slowly soaping it up to clear it from the stickiness of the tape. His long fingers looked amazing, wrapped around Derek’s length.

He breathed out, a small gasp.

Stiles looked up at him, through long wet lashes. “It’s okay, Derek,” he said as if he had werewolf senses and could smell Derek’s want.

Or maybe, Derek realized, Stiles didn’t need werewolf senses with how fast his dick was filling into an erection. His face felt hot, his breath came too fast.

“It’s okay,” Stiles repeated, voice pitching lower.

Fuck.

Stiles should not look that hot, clothes soaked and sticking to his body. He shouldn’t look like something Derek wanted. But he was something Derek wanted. Had been someone Derek wanted for quite some time now.

Stiles hand moved, slow, deliberate, up and down Derek’s length. Derek made a small sound in the back of his throat.

Just that simple touch felt so good.

“Derek,” Stiles said, voice serious suddenly. “I need you to stop me if this is not something you want. With words. Not eyebrows. Can you do that?”

Derek nodded. He could stop Stiles, it was just, he really didn’t want to. He wanted to know what it would feel like as Stiles stroked him closer to completion, how well he could use those clever fingers.

The touch withdrew.

Derek whined in protest.

“Words, Derek.”

“I will stop you,” he promised.

“Mhm, that’s better.” Stiles rewarded him with another gentle touch, teasingly running the tips of his fingers against Derek’s throbbing erection. He wanted more, tried to buck his hips towards the touch, silently begging for faster, harder.

The duct taped pinched his skin, ripped at his body hair, a physical reminder that he was very much at the mercy of Stiles. Derek swallowed, hard. His dick twitched in interest.

“You know, I’ve thought about this,” Stiles told him, voice a low rumble. Derek watched his mouth, wishing he knew what it felt like against his own, against his skin, licking along the shaft of his dick.

Derek made a sound. Stiles clearly took it as a ‘please continue’.

“I’ve fantasized about you a lot. It tried to hold myself back whenever I was near you, but sometimes you make that very hard. But alone? In the privacy of my own home? I would think about you. Touch myself. Imagine it would be your hands on my skin. I hoped you’d jump through the window one of those times. See what you did to me. I’ve wanted you for so long.” He swallowed. Derek watched the bob of his Adams apple. Even that looked obscene.

“I want you in so many different ways, you can’t even imagine,” Stiles continued, slowly running his fingers up and down Derek’s shaft, thumbing against the slit. Derek made a sound low in his throat. “Right now, I would really like to get on my knees for you, properly. Have you over me, fucking my mouth. I’d like to taste you, feel you on my tongue. It’s a bit late for it, but I want to start sucking you while you’re still soft, until you are hard and wanting in my mouth. I want to suck you until you reach that sweet edge, just before you come. I’d ask you not to. To wait. And I’d continue to suck, to lick, nip, tease, touch, until you were so desperate you were barely able to control yourself.”

“I would make it so hard for you. I want you to lose control for me. I want to see your face as you come down my throat. I want you to come so hard I can’t swallow it all. I want you to watch me, come dripping down my chin.”

Stiles kept the touches gentle, barely teasing along Derek’s erection.

Derek wanted to beg for more. For the touch to grow heavier, for more friction. He wanted to buck into Stiles’ hand, rut against it. But the duct tape stopped him, painful reminders when his hips decided to move at their own accord.

“And it doesn’t stop there,” Stiles continued. “I wouldn’t want it to be over so fast, you see. You’re a werewolf, I’m sure your refractory period is abysmal – and I’d take full advantage of that. I’d guide you back, until your knees hit the bed, take advantage of you being boneless and pliable post orgasm. Oh Derek, you’d look so good, legs spread for me.”

Derek gasped for air. His refractory period was short. How did Stiles know?

“You’d do that, wouldn’t you? Spread your legs nice and open?”

Shame filled Derek, flushing his face. He wanted that. He’d never admitted to anyone, barely to himself, that he wanted to be spread open and fucked into oblivion.  

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you’d look like that? You would start to harden again, your dick filling out in anticipation of what was about to happen. You’ve seen porn, right? You know how it works with two guys?”

Derek moaned softly as Stiles pressed the heel of his palm against his erection, finally giving a bit of the friction he so desperately craved. Yes, Derek had watched porn. He knew. He wanted.

“Mm, I do too, you know. I’d grab some lube, tease you at first. Slowly get your hole dripping wet for me, as you get back into full hardness. I love seeing your dick like that, all hard and proud and ready for me. But you’d already come, so I wouldn’t touch it, wouldn’t allow you to either, even though you’d want to.”

Derek swallowed, “please.” It was closer to a whimper than a word.

What he was asking for he wasn’t certain. More friction, more of Stiles’ fantasies? It didn’t matter, because Stiles wrapped his long fingers around Derek’s erection, giving an experimental tug.

“Mm, you’d not be quite as desperate, not yet. But I would finger you open, slow at first, allow you to get used to it. Have you ever fingered yourself? It feels so good. Did you imagine it was me too, like I’ve imagined you so many times over me?”

Stiles' voice was closer now, warm huffs of breath against Derek’s neck.

“Look at me, Derek.”

Derek did.

“Did you?” he demanded. “Did you finger yourself open? Do you know how amazing it can be?”

Derek nodded, face impossibly hot.

“Did you ever fantasize about me? When you fingered yourself open? Did you imagine it was me, doing that to you?”

Unsure, Derek groaned. Looking back there had been certain features he’d preferred when he searched for porn. Long, lean, pale skin. Short hair, amber-brown eyes and wicked smiles. But he hadn’t been aware.

“Yes,” he finally admitted. He had. He had. He just hadn’t been aware at the time.

Stiles looked as wrecked as he felt, lips shining with spit, red where he’d bit into them. “I want you as badly right now as you want me. Look at what you do to me.”

Swallowing, Derek looked down. He could see how Stiles’ wet pants tented, erection pressing against the wet fabric of his jeans. Derek’s mouth watered. He wanted to touch, wanted to taste.

“I know, I know, but not yet,” Stiles said in a soothing voice. “I just wanted you to know I am as desperate as you are right now. Wanted you to see it.”

Derek didn’t believe that for a second. For one, Stiles was able to touch him freely, whereas Derek was still covered in fucking duct tape. Stiles could take himself in hand if he was truly as wanting as Derek, whereas Derek was stuck. He could take what was given, but nothing more.

He whined, begging without words. He needed more, needed to know what Stiles wanted so Derek could give it to him as soon as he was free.

“Fingering you would not be enough for you, would it?”

No. No it wouldn’t. He’d done that to himself more than once, and it was good, great, never enough. It left him wanting, aching for more, just as it would if Stiles fingered him open. And he wanted that.

He wanted Stiles to spread him open, get him wet and slick and ready, use him, fuck into him, leave him warm and sated and covered in come, smelling like them. He wanted Stiles to take him so hard he could feel it the next day.

He didn’t say that, but Stiles seemed to know anyway, because he continued talking, continued touching Derek with soft, teasing touches that left him wanting more than anything. Derek’s hips rocked again, seeking Stiles’ clever touch.

“Oh, fuck. I would continue to finger you open until I was certain you could take me. I like it rough, sometimes, but I would like to you to walk funny because it was a good fuck, not because the prep lacked. And I would want to eat you out, too. You’d like that, wouldn't you? My lips against your ass? Me fucking you with my tongue?”

Yes, yes, Derek would very much like that. Stiles’ clever mouth eating him out until he couldn’t think straight, Stiles’ long fingers opening him up, Stiles dick up his ass, fucking him until he forgot his name.

Derek ached.

He wanted.

His breath came fast, irregular.

Stiles took mercy on him, speeding up the pace, squeezing just a bit harder. Derek was unable to keep his hips still, found himself trying to match the rhythm despite the ripping pain from the duct tape.

“Stiles,” he whined.

“Mhm, yes, sorry, you just look so gorgeous like this. I can’t believe it, it’s better than anything I’d imagined. And I’ve got a good imagination.”

Derek knew.

“But I’d not fuck you right away, no matter how much you begged for it, no matter how desperate you was. I’d take a moment just to watch you, to touch myself. You’d be so hard for me,  watching me slowly spread the lube down my dick, watch it become wet and ready and slick for you, wouldn’t you? You’d love it if I put on a bit of a show, even though you’d be so desperate for me to fuck you.”

He would, he really would. Fuck, Stiles’ words, his teasing touch, brought him closer and closer to the edge, a desperate heat building low in his stomach, making his toes curl in pleasure.

“And I’d finally do it. Your legs over my shoulders, my dick in your ass. You’d take it so beautifully. You’d look so good, stretched around my dick, wet and wanting. Your dick would be covered in precum, glistening with it. You’d want to touch yourself so bad, but I’d tell you not to. I’d ask you to wait, slowly fucking into you.”

Stiles lips were moving against his neck, kissing, nipping between words. Derek’s body was shivering with pleasure.

Derek was moving desperately now, chasing his orgasm in Stiles’ hand, as much movement as he could manage with the duct tape holding him back.

“I would make it so good for you. I would fuck you slow at first, then harder and harder. I would make you see stars, make your head swim with the force of it. I would ruin sex with anyone else. I would fuck you so good you’d never want to be with anyone but me.”

Stiles already had ruined it for Derek. There was no coming back from it now, not when he’d heard that voice saying those things. He knew Stiles could run his mouth. He’d never known that it would be what brought him to the edge.

“Stiles, Stiles, please,” he whimpered. “I’m gonna…”

And Stiles let go of his dick.

Derek cried out in desperation, moments from coming. He wanted; he needed it so badly his entire body ached at the loss of contact.

“Mhm, not now,” Stiles said. “I want to make it good for you.”

“It was, it was so good, please, I need to…”

Stiles ran a gentle hand down Derek’s chest. “And you will. I can promise you that. You will get to come, but it won’t be from my hand. I want you so desperate you can’t stand. I want you so fucking gone in pleasure you don’t remember your own name.”

It sounded like a promise.

It sounded like a threat.

“So can you wait for me? Can you wait for that?” Stiles asked. “Can you be a good boy like that?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Derek chanted. He would’ve said anything to get Stiles to continue, get those hands back on him.

“Good boy. Let’s get you out of this stupid tape, yes?”

He wanted out, wanted his hands free especially. He wanted to touch Stiles too, to make him feel as good as Derek had just done. His erection was throbbing, just on the cusp of painful. It felt amazing.

“Please,” Derek said instead.

Stiles prodded at the tape around his shoulders. “This has finally come loose enough for me to try and get it off,” he said.

Derek nodded, unable to see what Stiles was talking about. His head was swimming. He wanted Stiles to stop working with the duct tape and take him in hand again. He wanted Stiles to hurry with the duct tape so Derek could get his hands on him. He wanted to be free, he wanted to stay where he was, at the mercy of Stiles. There was something exhilarating about not being in charge, about only getting what Stiles wanted him to.

Stiles moved them both. Derek was turned halfway around, facing the wall, and Stiles sat down behind him. Derek’s entire being protested at the loss of Stiles across his legs, at Stiles warm breath and soft lips against his neck.

Stiles gently washed down his back, once again alternating between cutting, soap and water to get his skin free.

Derek waited patiently, head hanging underneath the warm spray of water as Stiles worked his way down. His fingers were as clever against the stiff muscles in Derek’s back as they’d been against his dick.

He was still hard. Desperately so, wanting, needing, and Stiles gently massaging his way down his back as he loosened the duct tape was not helping.

Soft kisses were pressed against his shoulder blades as a hand moved across Derek’s hips, loosely jerking him off again.

“Oh Derek, I can’t help myself,” Stiles moaned against his back. “You feel so good in my hand.”

Derek couldn’t help himself either. He could feel the hardness from Stiles’ erection press against his hip, where Stiles held himself close, rutting slowly against Derek. He wanted the duct tape off his ass so he could feel it properly, the roughness of the wet denim, the hardness underneath. Proof that Stiles found Derek as attractive as Derek found him.

Stiles moaned again, softly, punched out. “I want to fuck you.”

“Yes,” Derek agreed. He wanted that too. He wanted Stiles to push him over, get him ready and fuck him right there against the tiles in the shower, with the water spraying down over them.

He needed it. Needed to feel Stiles inside him like he’d never needed anything before.

“You need to tell me when you’re close,” Stiles said.

Derek nodded. He didn’t want to tell Stiles, not if it meant he didn’t get to come again, but fuck, he needed Stiles to do more. Needed to know what was behind that promise.

Stiles got a better grip around Derek’s dick, started jerking him off in earnest. He pushed his own groin close to Derek, rubbing himself against Derek’s ass, moaning softly against his back.

Fuck.

It took no time before the pleasure was building again, lightening fast. The world was tilting on its axis, and Derek wanted to come so badly.

“Stiles,” he whimpered.

“Yes?”

“Stiles, I’m close, fuck, I’m so close.”

“That was fast,” Stiles said as if he hadn’t been the one to jerk Derek almost to completion just moments before.

He gave a tug, another, leaving Derek moaning under the spray before he let go.

Derek’s hips moved against the air, desperately seeking out friction, anything that could make him come. There was nothing.

He whimpered, feeling the loss of touch with his entire body. It was torture. It was the best he’d ever felt.

“Good boy,” Stiles said. “I’m so proud of you.”

Those words shouldn’t do anything to Derek. It shouldn’t make him want to straighten his back. It shouldn’t fill him with pride.

Stiles patted his thigh gently before returning to his work of freeing Derek’s back.

Derek was hyperaware throughout the process of cutting, soaping, rinsing . Every movement was like flames down his spine. He was so turned he was dizzy with it.  

Stiles finally got his back free. He then proceeded to work his way around Derek’s sides, over his arms with the same, gentle movements.

“I never finished, did I?”

Derek was pretty sure he would’ve noticed if Stiles had come. But then Stiles continued to talk, and Derek realized he’d misunderstood entirely.

“Oh yes! I would fuck you so good sex with other people would be ruined, right? That’s where I was – but Derek, you’d think I’d let you come on my dick, right?”

A hand rubbing down Derek’s stomach, feeling his abs, traitorously close to his groin without ever touching.

Stiles let his finger roam closer, never touching. Derek’s erection was throbbing. It was still just on the verge of painful, he was that turned on.

“And believe me, I would’ve a hard time not letting you come. I’ve seen you close now. It’s addicting. I would want to see you like that again, and again. I would fuck you so good, keep you right on the edge, but not allowed to touch yourself, never allowed to come. And you’d take it so fucking well. You are good like that. The best.”

A gentle touch to his dick, barely ghosting it. Derek was keening underneath Stiles’ fingers.

“You’d want to. You’d need to. You’d be so grateful I had already allowed you one orgasm, because otherwise it would’ve been impossible for you to be good. And I would use you, I would use you like a fuck toy. I would keep going until I came, filled you up, made you smell like me. I would come in you so that everyone would know you are taken, that you are mine .”

Derek just about came undone. He wanted to be Stiles’ so bad. How had he not realized years ago? Stiles was everything he wanted, everything he needed.

“I would leave you there, for a moment, spread out, well fucked, my come leaking out of you. And then I’d plug up your abused hole, keep you wet and open and ready for me. You’d beg me to let you come again, but you’d be good, so good, Derek, and not touch yourself. I know you would. You’d leave the butt plug in, let me clean you up a bit. It would be torture, because you’d still be on the edge.”  

Derek whimpered in desperation.

“Mm, exactly like that. I know what you need. I know how to make you feel good.”

He let Derek rut against his hand for a moment, withdrawing as soon as Derek’s movements grew erratic, uncoordinated, too desperate for rhythm.

“Uh, uh, what did I say? No coming on my hand.”

Stiles moved again, crouching down in front of Derek. He swore under his breath. Derek was certain it was another testimony to how good he looked wrecked and desperate and so, so hard.

“It hurts,” he whimpered. It didn’t, but it was close, he was so close, everything was on fire. He needed to come, needed something, anything. Needed Stiles.

“I’m sorry. I need to get the tape off you first,” Stiles told him. He didn’t sound sorry at all. “You know, this isn’t easy for me either. I want you too. Need. I want to touch you, get us both off. But do you really want your first orgasm with me to be in the shower, half covered by duct tape?”

No. Derek didn’t want that. He wanted it in his bed, wanted it to smell like them afterwards. He wanted Stiles to come there too, for everything to be theirs and his and, and…

“Please, please, I need you in bed. I need you to use me, fuck me.”

Stiles seemingly took mercy on Derek.

Even with his gently ministrations it was torture getting the tape off his nipples. He was sensitive, but duct tape was not the stimulation he wanted or required.

“On your knees,” Stiles said as soon as the tape was off Derek’s upper body.

Derek scrambled to do as he was asked. He wanted Stiles to take him right there and then. The duct tape covering his ass and the back of his thighs was a reminder that Stiles had said he wouldn’t. Fucking would be in the bed, not in the shower.

Stiles took his sweet time removing the tape, slowly rubbing circles into the flesh of Derek’s ass as he soaped him down. He made sure to be thorough around Derek’s inner thighs, up along the crack of his ass, even though tape had never touched that particular area.

“Damn, you aren’t making this easy for me,” Stiles said. “You look so good on your knees. It’s so tempting to take you now.”

“Please.”

Stiles could take him, no lube, no prep. Derek would heal. He wanted it, needed the burn, the pain. The reminder of Stiles' desperation, that he too was unable to control himself. They could use soap for all Derek cared.

Stiles didn’t take him.

Stiles didn’t fuck him.

Like the tease he was he kissed and nipped down Derek’s ass, drawing soft noises from his throat. He pushed back, needing more, dizzy with want.

Stiles spread his ass cheeks.

“Can I?”

Derek breathed out a yes.

Stiles licked against his hole; tongue flat. Derek moaned, bucking his hips back for more. He needed Stiles in him, any part, it didn’t matter.

Stiles licked again, warm, and wet against Derek’s needy skin. He continued lapping against Derek’s hole, getting him wetter.  

Fuck. Derek had never been more turned on in his life. His dick was steadily leaking precum.

Stiles never did more than tease. Never breached Derek’s rim, even though he whimpered broken pleas for Stiles to do exactly that.

“Oh, I need you to stand now,” Stiles said behind him, breath ghosting against him.

Derek didn’t want to stand up. He wanted Stiles’ tongue in his ass. He wanted Stiles’ dick, wanted to be fucked raw..

“Please,” he whimpered, “I can’t, I need, please, please.”

Stiles showed no mercy. He got up, waited patiently behind Derek for him to raise as well.

Derek moaned in protest, using the wall as leverage as he slowly got to his feet. His legs were jelly underneath him, refusing to fully bear his weight. His knees buckled, and he found himself held up between the wall and Stiles.

“Shush, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Stiles whispered into his skin.

Derek whimpered.

“Just a bit more, okay? Then I’ll dry you off, get you to bed. And then you get to come.”

“Yes,” Derek agreed.

“Good boy,” Stiles told him, a smile in his voice. “Stay here for a moment longer.”

He failed to prepare Derek. Failed to tell him that the worst wasn’t over, that it was time for oil and more soap to get rid of the last bits of sticky.

Any other time Derek would’ve appreciated the thoroughness. But right then, he couldn’t give fewer shits about a bit of stickiness being left on his skin.

Stiles moved away from him with soft, wet noises. Derek watched him out of his peripheral vision, grabbing the bottle of massage oil from the cabinet above the sink.

Derek leaned against the cool tile, trying to get his head back on track. His body was thrumming with need, his entire being centered around the need for an orgasm.

Stiles turned off the water. Derek made a sound, protesting, but then an oil-slick hand started running down his back. It felt even better than the soap. He couldn’t quite make out what the difference was, but something about the slickness of the oil made him groan deep in his throat. It felt so good.

Derek stood still as Stiles covered his backside and arms in oil, movements slow and deliberate. He dwelled a moment on Derek’s ass, making appreciative noises as he ran his hands over the muscle.

Derek gasped out.

Stiles didn’t dwell long on his ass. He moved down Derek’s thighs, oiling between his legs until he was slippery and slick between his thighs. Derek wanted Stiles to drop his soaked pants, for him to fuck his thighs. He could take him in the ass too, the oil would be fine as lube.

“We can do that later.”

Derek hadn’t realized he had spoken out loud.

Fuck.

Stiles oiled up the soft skin behind his knees, his calves, his ankles.

“Turn around,” he ordered softly.

And Derek did.

He watched Stiles as his hands moved the opposite way. Feet, ankles, shins, knees. He was soaked, t-shirt clinging to his body in a way that left nothing to fantasize about. His collarbones were begging to be kissed and bitten beneath the clingy fabric.

Stiles kept eye contact with Derek as he oiled up his hands again, moving up his thighs, taking care to add plenty of oil, making Derek’s skin shine with it.

“Derek, fuck,” Stiles whimpered as he stood in front of Derek, finally taking him in hand again.

Derek moaned at the oil slick slide of Stiles fingers around him. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the sensation to overtake him. Pleasure was shooting up his spine. He needed it so bad.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” Stiles asked.

Derek looked down. Stiles had done absolutely nothing to hide the tenting of his wet jeans. He had a pretty good idea of exactly what he did to him.

Stiles gently fondled his balls, making sure to clean the sticky remnants from them too.

Derek moaned at the loss of contact as Stiles’ fingers continued upwards. His only comfort was that the faster Stiles finished oiling him up, the faster they could get into bed.

Stiles hands moved over his chest, teasing his nipples with soft touches, light pinching.

Derek whimpered, unable to stop the noises falling from his lips. Stiles knew exactly what drove him crazy, what his body craved.

He didn’t dare to open his eyes, didn’t dare look at long, pale fingers moving against his sun kissed skin. It would be too much. He would combust or come from the sight alone, and Stiles had said he couldn’t, had promised to take Derek like he deserved.

Derek wanted to be good.

“You’re such a good boy, Derek,” Stiles told him. His voice was low, rumbling. “You are beautiful like this, don’t you think so?”

Derek’s face heated impossibly. He had to look like a human beetroot.

“Sweetheart, open your eyes and look at me.”

How was he supposed to resist when Stiles used pet names like that? Derek swallowed, trying to prepare himself for the sight. It had been mouthwatering before, almost impossible to resist. He expected nothing less now.

He couldn’t prepare himself. Stiles kept saying he was the beautiful one, but clearly Stiles didn’t know what a mirror was. He was beyond gorgeous, so Derek reached out, wanting to touch, wanting to make Stiles feel as good and desperate as he was currently feeling.

“Ah ah,” Stiles said in warning.

Derek protested, low in his throat. Whining. Why couldn’t he touch Stiles?

“Tell me something nice about yourself,” Stiles said.

His hands fell down his side at their own accord. What? That made no sense, why would Stiles have him do that?

Stiles grabbed the shower gel, soaped up his hands. Derek watched hungrily, knowing those hands would soon touch him again, wash him down, even though he was perfectly capable of doing so himself.

“Derek, say something nice or I won’t let you come.” It was stated so matter of factly Derek had no doubt Stiles meant it.

Fuck.

His stupid brain scrambled to a halt. What nice things could he say about himself? He tried to remember what people had told him in the past, but the only thing that stuck was Stiles’ voice telling him how beautiful and gorgeous he looked utterly desperate.

Stiles had already wrecked him for other people, he realized. They hadn’t even made it to fucking.

“I have a nice smile,” he said, hesitantly. He wasn’t sure it was the truth but judging from the reactions he got whenever he turned on his charm and smiled, it probably wasn’t too far off.

“Mm, that was an easy one, wasn’t it?” Stiles asked him.

It hadn’t been.

But then Stiles hands were on him, soaping down his arms and Derek entirely forgot the struggle to find nice words about himself. He had never thought his arms or hands could be erotic to have touched, but the way Stiles moved, soft, deliberate, taking time to clean ever nook and cranny between Derek’s fingers, they suddenly became that.

He gasped for air, his chest constricting.

“One more,” Stiles said. “Tell me one more nice thing about yourself.”

How could Derek say no when Stiles hands were soapy with shower gel, moving over his biceps to his deltoids, down his pectorals ? His chest had always been sensitive to touch, his nipples even more so.

Stiles took his sweet time with soaping his chest hair, carefully avoiding his nipples.

“Derek,” he prompted.

“Ah,” Derek whimpered. “I have eyebrows.”

A laugh. “So do I. That’s not a nice thing, that’s a fact.”

How was Stiles not more affected than this? Derek could smell his arousal in the damp bathroom. He should’ve been as desperate as Derek. It wasn’t fair.

“I have nice eyebrows,” Derek corrected, praying Stiles' clever fingers would find his nipples soon. He needed them there, needed them to touch, to send fire down his belly, feed into his erection.

“That you do.”

Stiles, someone bless him, heard Derek’s prayers. He thumbed at Derek’s nipples, slowly circling them. Derek couldn’t help the punched-out noises escaping his mouth. None of his previous partners had realized exactly how crazy nipple play could make him, and it had taken Stiles what, five minutes?

Stiles grabbed a nipple between two fingers, pinching it lightly.

“Fuck,” Derek whimpered.

“You like that, don’t you?”

“Yes, fuck, yes.”

“Mhm, then tell me one more nice thing about yourself.”

Derek gasped for air. Hadn’t he already mentioned everything? He couldn’t remember a single thing about his own body except how important it was that Stiles kept touching it.

“I have a hot body,” he breathed out. That he knew. He took a lot of pride in, as a matter of fact. Less for the aesthetic of it, more for the strength. But he knew it looked good. Knew Stiles had a hard time looking away whenever he bent down or was wearing a particularly tight set of jeans.

Stiles moved closer, his jeans-covered erection brushing against Derek’s.

“That you do. Such a good boy,” he praised. “You have no idea how much I want to put my mouth on you right now, Derek.”

Do it. Do it. Do it. Derek wanted that, wanted Stiles lips, his tongue, his teeth. He needed Stiles on his nipples, his chest, his dick, touching his balls, opening him up, licking into him, preparing him for the best fuck of his life.

“You are covered in soap,” Stiles said in a regretful tone.

“Wash me,” Derek begged. “Touch me, please, Stiles.”

In retaliation Stiles twisted his nipple, making him moan. Oh god, was Stiles planning to kill him? Could he die from being too aroused?

Stiles took no mercy, working his way down Derek’s abs. He washed his dick almost methodically, clinically. There was no feeling, yet Derek almost came from the simple touch. There seemed to be one goal for both of them, get Derek clean as fast as possible so they could get into bed, so Stiles could lick him and kiss him and fuck him.

Derek was entirely on board with this plan. He’d been riding the sweet, sweet edge for so long he was delirious with it, the need burning in his veins.

“Turn around, sweetheart.”

Good boy and sweetheart was officially ruined for Derek. He wouldn’t ever be able to hear those words without feeling Stiles’ hands on him, without the sweet scent of their arousal filling his nostrils.

“One more, Derek, one more.”

One more what?

It took a moment for his brain to catch up.

Derek whimpered. He wasn’t sure he could say one more nice thing about himself. What more was there to say? Stiles worked up his calves, his thighs, and then Derek remembered.

“I have a phenomenal ass.”

Stiles had said so, once. Derek had thought he was joking, now he was sure it had not been.

“Oh yes,” Stiles agreed, soap slick hands sliding over the mentioned body part. “You have the best ass. You have no idea how often I imagined touching you like this. How hard I had to fight not to touch when you were wearing those black jeans. Fuck, that was torture, you know that? You looking like that, me unable to touch, unable to say anything.”

“I wanted you to,” Derek found himself whimpering as Stiles hands kneaded the flesh, pushing into the muscle, making him boneless and wanting and so, so hard.

Stiles huffed out a laugh behind him, warm breath against Derek’s cooling back. “Imagine how much sooner we could’ve had this, if we’d just talked,” he said.

Derek moaned as Stiles took care to spread his legs and wash between his ass cheeks, the perineum, all the way to his balls.

“Do you think you can say one just more nice thing about yourself? Not physical, this time.”

Who had made Stiles such a mean person? Everyone knew that Derek’s attributes were physical, it was no secret. His personality wasn’t exactly a shining testament to humanity. He was too angry, too guarded against the world.

Stiles kept washing between his legs, never touching his balls or his hole. Derek tried wiggling his hips. It didn’t help.

“Just one more. Be a good boy for me.”

“I’m loyal,” he gasped out. That was true. He was loyal to a fault. It was hard to earn his loyalty, but once you had it, he would sacrifice everything for that person.

“So good,” Stiles praised, finally moving his fingers over Derek’s hole, providing just enough pressure to make him mad with want.

“Please.” What was he asking for at this point? Derek wasn’t sure. He wanted, he needed, but Stiles knew what he wanted, knew what he needed, and Derek was trusting him to give it.

Stiles hands moved up, soaping his back up, lingering a moment over the triskele tattoo.

“Turn on the water.”

Derek did. The spray was cool against his face. Had they really been at it so long the water had cooled in the pipes?

Stiles took the handle, taking care to spray all of Derek down with the slowly heating water.

“Looks like I got it all off.”

It took too long to process what Stiles was talking about, that duct tape was the entire reason they were in the shower in the first place.

He looked down over himself. The only thing out of the ordinary he could see was the angry pink-purple color of his erection that had been neglected for too long.

Stiles turned off the water, handed him a towel.

Derek started to dry his hair, not sure if he was allowed to touch anywhere else. So far Stiles had made it very clear that touching himself was a no go.

“Ew, wet,” Stiles complained as he stripped out of his wet t-shirt. It hit the floor with a splat. Derek stole a glance. Stiles had filled out over the years, just as he’d thought. Muscle had replaced baby fat, leaving him with a long, lean runners’ body. He’d grown hot as hell.

“Keep drying yourself,” Stiles told him.

Derek hadn’t realized he had stopped to ogle.

He started toweling his arms, his back, waiting for Stiles to finally strip out of his jeans. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to see Stiles naked, but with it so close to happening? Every moment Stiles was still wearing wet jeans was a second too much.

But Stiles never stripped, just instructed for Derek to keep drying himself. Derek watched him towel his own hair dry, wrap the towel around his waist over the wet jeans.

Was he going to deny him that too? The chance to see him as hard and aching for Derek, as Derek was for him?

Stiles managed to get his jeans unbuttoned and down his legs without revealing anything to Derek.

Unfair. Derek made a protesting noise.

“You are allowed to touch yourself, but only for the purpose of drying off.”

That proved harder than he’d thought. Derek started with his feet, his legs, slowly moving his way up. The rough texture of the towel made his nerve endings sing, his entire body oversensitive. It was a new feeling, so different from Stiles’ hands.

Derek finally reached his balls. He aimed for a methodical dry-off, the way he would after every shower. But the touch was too much, he was too sensitive. Derek threw his head back, whimpering as he slowly dried off his balls and perinium. He needed so much.

“And you dick. Don’t forget your dick.”

As if he could. It was close to torture, touching himself there after it had been neglected so long. It took all his frayed self-control not to start jerking off, even though the towel was rough against the oversensitive skin.

“Stiles,” he whimpered. He wanted to ditch the towel, to touch himself.

“Not yet,” Stiles told him. “Are you finished drying?”

And Derek remembered the promise of Stiles getting him off with something that wasn’t his hands. About Stiles fucking him into oblivion and he wanted that, he wanted that so badly.

“Derek?”

“Yes, yes, I am.”

He took a step out the shower cabin, knees weak beneath him. He moved slowly, not sure his legs would carry him. He’d never felt so aroused before.

Getting to the bed was slow. Stiles was still wearing a towel around his waist, not permitting Derek to look at what had to be a fine ass. He did nothing to hide the erection behind the towel, though. There was no doubt that he too was affected by what had transpired between them.

“On your back,” Stiles said. Derek scrambled to obey, moving against the soft sheets as fast as he could. It wouldn’t be long now, he would only have to withstand a bit longer.

“How close are you?” Stiles asked.

Derek moaned. Wasn’t it obvious from how long he’d been hard, from how strongly he’d reacted to even the simplest touch from Stiles? “Close,” he admitted, embarrassment coloring his face.

“Good boy. You need to stop me before you come.”

That was all the warning Derek got before Stiles was on him, licking from his balls up his shaft. He took Derek in his mouth, swirling his tongue over the head of Derek’s dick, down the slit, making his hips buck off the bed at their own accord.

Oh fuck.

Stiles moved his hands, holding Derek down by his hips. Derek whined in protest. He wanted to move, wanted to fuck Stiles mouth the way he’d promised Derek could. He wouldn’t last long, that was okay, he would be ready again very fast.

Stiles took him deeper, hollowing his cheeks as he went down Derek’s shaft. Derek watched, mesmerized at the sight of his dick disappearing into Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles almost made it to the base before he had to pull off, gasping for air. “I always imagined you to have a big enough dick to choke on,” he told Derek, voice hoarse.

“Yes, please,” Derek begged.

With a smirk Stiles went back down, sucking in earnest, working a rhythm. He let go of Derek’s left hip to touch the parts he couldn’t fit in his mouth.

Derek moaned, lost in sensation. Stiles was skilled, just the right amount of pressure against the base of his dick.

His toes curled, pressure building low in his stomach, his balls, his dick. He was so close.

“Fuck,” he warned.

And instead of letting him come down that gorgeous throat, Stiles pulled off.

Derek whimpered in protest, eyes prickling. It was painful. He needed to come. His entire body was on fire, screaming in protest. He needed Stiles to finish what he had started.

“Sti-iles.”

“Not yet,” Stiles said, voice leaving no room for discussion. “You can be a good boy and wait.”

Stiles moved forward, straddling Derek’s stomach, just out of reach. “You can, right?”

What could he do but nod, tears stinging in his eyes, when Stiles asked like that, his warm, naked ass pressed against Derek’s abs, just out of reach?

“That’s my good boy.”

Stiles leaned forward, awkwardly, and kissed him.

Derek had been kissed before. Of course he had. But it had never felt like this. It had never made his entire body sing, never made his toes curl in pleasure, his hips move on their own. Stiles tasted like him, a hint of bitterness from precum on his tongue.

He kissed the way he sucked dick. With skill and passion. He was going to kill Derek. There was no way around it.

“Oh sweetheart, there’s no need to cry. You’ll get to come.”

Derek hadn’t realized he was crying until Stiles pointed it out, drying tears from his temples where they had started leaking against his permission.

“I need, please, I need it.”

But Stiles didn’t budge, just held Derek down with kisses that promised more of what Derek needed.

He could move Stiles no problem, could overpower him so easily. But he didn’t want to overpower, he wanted to be held down, used, just like Stiles had promised.

Derek whined again, begging wordlessly.

Stiles finally took mercy. “You really can’t wait, huh?” he asked.

“Please just let me come,” Derek whimpered, wringing against the bed, seeking out something, anything. “I’ll be so good after, I’ll do everything you want me to. I’ll be the best.”

“I know,” he told Derek. His voice was steadier than it had any right to be.

Stiles pushed himself off Derek. His body protested at the lack of contact. He hadn’t wanted Stiles off him, he’d wanted more, more contact, more touch, more everything.

“Where’s the lube?”

Derek blinked at him.

Lube?

”In the drawer.” He nodded towards the small table by the bedside.

Stiles’ eyebrows rose as he saw the other things hiding away in the bedside drawer. Pictures of Stiles using his toys on him filled Derek’s brain. He bit back another sound.

“I had no idea, Derek, no idea,” Stiles said, picking up a big, black dildo with a knotted base. “It’s hot.”

Derek swallowed.

“Do you use this on yourself? I’m sorry to say it, but I can’t knot you. I’d want to, but sadly, I’m human through and through.”

Fuck.

Stiles smirked. Derek had thought he’d taken mercy on him, but no, it was an entirely different sort of torture, Stiles sitting on the edge of the bed, just out of reach, slowly caressing Derek’s toys.

“Don’t mind,” Derek rasped. “Don’t need a knot.”

He didn’t. He had other, smaller toys. He had yet to make himself come untouched, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be too hard to manage. Not with how turned on he was.

He moved, trying to find friction against the air. There was none. 

“Just need you,” he added, unsure if Stiles had gotten the hint.

Stiles smiled wider. “And you’ll have me. I just want to see what you’ve got in here.” He gestured towards the drawer.

Derek moaned, throwing his head against the pillow. If Stiles insisted on going through all his toys it would be long before he was touched.

“Can I touch myself?” he begged.

Contemplating, Stiles looked him over. “If you don’t come,” he agreed. “I want you riding that sweet, sweet high for a while longer.”

As if it hadn’t already been too long. Derek felt as if he’d been hard for hours, left wanting for more and never getting it. Stiles had no sense of mercy, clearly wanting to torture him.

Derek ran a hand down his stomach, palming against his dick. He wanted to take himself in hand, jerk off, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to stop. He wanted Stiles to tell him how good he was for not doing it, craved that praise as much as he craved release.

“You look so hot like that,” Stiles told him, putting down the knotted dildo. He grabbed Derek’s favorite butt plug next. “Have you ever worn this outside your apartment?”

Derek shook his head. He had wanted to, more than once, but he’d never dared doing it.

Stiles' eyes darkened. “Would you be willing to?”

Derek nodded, face heating impossibly.

“I’m going to come in you. And then I’m going to plug you up with this. Even thoroughly fucked this is big enough that you’ll feel it every time you move, right?”

Derek nodded again, slowly touching his balls, hissing at the sensation. He was oversensitive, so ready to come.

“ I wouldn’t permit you to take it out for a while. We could go out eating, after, and we’d both know why you’d be squirming in your seat. You’d be wet and ready for me again when we came home after. I wouldn’t fuck you then, you know me better than to think that by now, but I would touch you, and I would play with you, use you like the pretty thing you are. Maybe I would use your toys on you.”

His movements grew more frantic as Stiles talked. His need grew impossibly, threatening to overtake him.

And then Stiles hands were on his wrist, stopping him.

“Uh uh, I don’t think you’re able to handle this on your own anymore.”

Derek cried out. He’d been so close. Stiles had stopped him. Again. His throat felt thick, tears stinging again. “Stiles.” It came out as a broken whimper.

“Shush, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Derek watched as Stiles uncapped the lube, spreading his legs. He let him, willingly, still palming his erection. He barely needed time to adjust to the intrusion as Stiles pushed a finger inside him, cold and wet and slick.

“So good for me,” Stiles told him.

Derek nodded. He was good.

“Tell me, Derek, tell me exactly how good you’ve been.”

“So good,” he rasped. “I’ve been so good. Haven’t come. Wanted to, needed to. So good.”

“Yes, so good.” Stiles pushed in another finger. “And so greedy. Look at that, you barely needing any prep, all greedy and ready for me.”

“Need you.”

Stiles started fingering, curling his fingers just so.

Derek saw stars. He could definitely come untouched. It would not be a problem.

Stiles continued to finger him until Derek begged for mercy. Tears were running down his face, he was sobbing with need, with want, his body on fire. Nothing mattered by Stiles’ fingers in his ass, the way he’d curl them, make Derek’s hips buck off the bed in desperation.

“Hands on the bed.”

Derek moved his hand from his erection, crying at the loss of contact. He needed the friction, needed more, needed something to take him down from the edge between pleasure and pain Stiles made him walk.

He palmed at the sheets, ripping at them, trying desperately to hold back. 

“You can come.”

A moment ago he would’ve sworn he could come untouched, but now it seemed so far away. Stiles had slowed his fingering down, moving in and out fast enough to keep Derek on the toes of an orgasm, but not enough to make him come.

“Stiles, Stiles, Stiles,” he whimpered. “Please, please, I need, so bad, please.”

“You look so beautiful when you cry. When you beg for mercy.” Stiles sounded so unaffected, but Derek could smell his arousal, could hear the way the words were frayed around the edges. Stiles wanted too.

Derek whimpered again, broken pleas for Stiles to get him off.

Stiles finally sped up, hammering his fingers into Derek’s prostate with every thrust of his hand.

His orgasm took him by surprise, the sheer force of it. White lights danced behind his eyes as he thrashed against the bed, sobbing through it. Warm spurts of come covered his stomach, his chest. 

His dick throbbed heavily around the base. He whimpered as Stiles ran a finger over the swollen flesh. Derek had sprung a knot exactly twice before. He knew it would be oversensitive, knew the next orgasm would be just within reach.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles moaned above him. “I need you to fuck me next time. I need that in my ass. I need you to fill me up like that.”

His dick was leaking, twitching against his stomach, hot spurts of come welling out of the tip, pooling on his stomach.

Stiles kept fingering him, a hungry look on his eyes. Derek wanted to tell him to touch, to squeeze his knot. It would make him come again, and he wanted that, oh he wanted that.

“But I think it’s my turn to come, don’t you agree?” Stiles said. 

It occurred to Derek that he had probably talked out loud. 

Derek nodded. Stiles’ promise of fucking him, plugging him up filled his head. He wanted that. Wanted to feel Stiles inside him for days, wanted to walk funny the way one does after a good fuck. He wanted to smell like Stiles. Wanted Stiles to smell like him.

Stiles withdrew his hand, slowly. Derek ached at the loss. He felt empty, like he needed to be filled up more than anything else.

His dick twitched in interest, wetly against his come-covered stomach.

“I don’t think I ever promised you anything,” Stiles said, grabbing the lube. Derek wanted him to use his come as lube instead, be covered in it the way Derek soon would be covered in Stiles’. “But I had a thought, with all the compliments you gave yourself. One orgasm, for each time you said something nice about yourself. Do you think you can come four more times?”

Derek wasn’t, but he nodded either way. He wanted that. Wanted for Stiles to fuck him so good he came on his dick, untouched again. Wanted Stiles’ hand around his knot, wanted to knot Stiles so good. He would do his very best to please Stiles like that, to be a good boy.

“That’s my good boy,” Stiles praised. “On your knees. I won’t be able to last if I can see you, not when you’re looking like this. It should be illegal for you to look this good.”

His body moved sluggishly, still heavy from the orgasm, hyperaware and ready for more. His dick hung heavy and warm and ready between his legs, still leaking. The come on his body was cooling rapidly, reminding him exactly how much of a mess he’d made of himself. It shouldn’t be hot. It was.

There was a click from the lube lid, punched out noises as Stiles slicked himself up. Stiles gave him no warning, spreading his asscheeks and lining himself up. He pushed in slowly, allowing Derek just a moment to adjust to the girth of his dick before bottoming out.

Stiles’ fingers had been amazing. They had nothing on his dick. Groaning from pleasure, Derek found himself lost in the sensation of being filled. It was like he was made for it, created for the sole purpose of Stiles using him, fucking him, filling him. 

“Please, please fuck me.”

Stiles ran his hands down Derek’s side, one still wet with lube, leaving a cold sticky trail on Derek’s skin. “You’re not very patient, are you?”

Derek shook his head, lowering his shoulders to angle his back, allowing Stiles to nail his prostate with each move in and out.  

“No touching yourself. Tell me if you get close again.”

“Yes,” Derek agreed, whimpering into the pillow. He was already closer than he had any right to be.

Stiles fucked him hard, dirty and fast. His hips snapped against Derek’s ass, obscene, wet noises from where their bodies met. Derek clutched at the pillow, moaning into the fabric. 

He was oversensitive enough that the fucking was borderline between pleasure and pain, so sweet. He could do nothing but lie there, take it. He prayed for Stiles to come inside him. He wanted to be filled up, needed it more than he’d needed his first orgasm. 

Getting fucked by Stiles was torture. It was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“Fuck, Derek, you feel so good.” Stiles gasped above him, sinking deep into Derek. “I wish I could live like this, my dick buried inside you. It looks so good, you’re taking it so well. You’re such a good boy for me.”

Derek was. He really was.

“Please,” he whimpered, not sure what he was asking for. His dick brushed against his stomach, throbbing hard, knot begging for attention.

Stiles snapped his hips, flushed himself to Derek’s ass, moving his hips just enough to drive Derek crazy. He needed the hard, fast pace. Needed to feel Stiles ruin him for everyone else.

“Please,” he begged.

“Please what?”

“Can I come?” 

He hadn’t realized how close he was, how fast Stiles had fucked him towards that edge, until the words left his lips. Stiles’ dick twitched inside him. Derek could hear the soft groan as Stiles grabbed his hips harder, drew out and slammed back in.

“Fuck, yes. I want to feel you come on my dick. I want you to cry out my name, I want to feel you clench around me. I want to fuck you through your orgasm.”

Derek whimpered. He wanted that too. He needed friction against his dick, pressure around his knot. 

“Uh uh, no touching,” Stiles reminded him, immediately stopping his movements. Derek reluctantly moved his hands back by his head, and Stiles picked up the pace back up again, ramming into him with force. His hands digging into Derek’s hips. Had he been human it would’ve bruised.

Derek cried out his pleasure as Stiles nailed his prostate again, and again, and again. He pressed his face against the pillow, moaning, writhing, wanting, needing. The fabric was damp underneath his face, soaked by tears and saliva. 

Stiles continued to fuck him, use him like a toy. Derek loved it.

The pressure build fast as Stiles fucked into him. Desperately so. His entire body tingled, toes curled. Fuck. Fuck. He barely managed to gasp out something that sounded like Stiles’ name, before he was coming again, whitehot pleasure searing through him as he spurted over the bedsheets and himself. 

Stiles' hands held him up, as Derek’s knees buckled underneath him. Stiles fucked him through the spasms of his orgasms, through the oversensitive aftershock. Derek cried out, in pleasure, in pain, he wasn’t sure anymore. Everything was centered around the dick in his ass, the sparks it sent through his body.

Loud groans behind him was everything he needed to hear to know that Stiles was as lost in pleasure as Derek had just been. He wanted Stiles to continue fuck him, to come inside him. It was too much, he was painfully oversensitive, twitching at the onslaught of sensation. 

Stiles kept fucking him.He lost all ability to think after that. Allowed himself to just be used, like a convenient hole. Stiles moaned, gasped, fucked into him like Derek had never been fucked before. 

And finally Stiles moaned out a broken “Oh, Derek,”. Warm pulses of come filled him as Stiles stilled behind him. Derek gasped at the sensation, wishing desperately he could touch himself so he could join Stiles in his orgasm.

Stiles petted his hip gently.

“Fuck,” Stiles gasped, keeping him up with the other hand, “that was great.”

Derek nodded against the sheet, unable to form words. He was pretty sure his brain had just been fucked out. He felt floaty. Sort of light. As if he could just fly away, if he wanted to. Except his body was so heavy and tired and covered in come. Crusty, wet, sticky. Used.

Stiles stayed behind him, slowly growing soft inside Derek. Derek wanted him to grow hard again, fuck him again. He was still hard. It would be a while before his knot went down.

“Keep your ass up.”

Okay, yes, yes, Derek could do that. He swayed as Stiles drew out, the loss leaving him terribly empty and without anything to anchor to.

He listened to Stiles opening the drawer by the bed. Was he really going to plug Derek up? Derek blinked against the pillow, tried to turn his head to look at Stiles. Too much effort.

The bed dipped again as Stiles sat back on it.

“You were such a good boy for me,” Stiles whispered, pressing a kiss to the small of Derek’s back. “As your reward, I’m going to plug you up now.”

Yes, Derek wanted that. It felt right to have a piece of Stiles inside him. He wanted to make a permanent space there, something just for Stiles.

The butt plug felt cold and hard compared to Stiles’ dick, pushing against his hole. Derek made a small sound, protesting. He wanted Stiles dick again, and if there was a butt plug, Stiles couldn’t fuck him. 

Stiles waited for him to relax. There was barely any resistance as he pushed the butt plug in, his hole lose from the fucking. 

“You’re so wet,” Stiles told him. Of course he was. Stiles had been liberal with his lube and with come added to the mix Derek was leaking, even with his ass up.

“You can lie down now.”

Derek wanted to. He just wasn’t sure how. He made a sound, not sure how to make his mouth work long enough to ask Stiles for help.

Stiles seemed to get it, though, gently guiding him to lie on his stomach. The bedsheet underneath him was ruined, wet and cold and come soaked and sticky. He didn’t care. The pressure against his knot felt amazing.

He moved against it, seeking friction.

“Look at me, Derek,” Stiles said. “Do you want to come like that? Rutting against your bed like a teenager?”

Yes, yes, he wanted to come again. Didn’t matter how, it really didn’t. The butt plug pressed against his prostate, a reminder of what had just happened, a delicious pressure.

“Isn’t that sad when I’m here, just for you to use?”

It took too long for Derek to process those words.

“I want you to fuck my thighs.”

Oh fuck, yes, he was entirely on board with that. Stiles’ thighs would feel so much better than sticky bed sheets. Derek could do that.

“I want you to knot my thighs, Derek. I want you to come all over me, make me smell like you.”

“Yes,” Derek agreed. He needed Stiles covered in his come too. 

He watched, writhing against the sheets as Stiles uncapped the lube, and made a show out of slicking up thighs. “You want me wet, right Derek?” he said.

Derek nodded. He wanted Stiles soaking. He wanted more than just to fuck Stiles thighs. He wanted to lick Stiles all over, make him squirm and desperate and flushed the way he’d done to Derek.

“I fucking love your refractory period. I’ll take full advantage of that another time, when I’m prepared. I would get myself ready, make you watch. I would have you fuck me, and you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

Derek would. Stiles him to his knees, backed up against him. Derek lined his aching dick between Stiles' strong thighs, experimentally moving back and forth.

Fuck that felt good. Like everything Derek could’ve ever wanted, needed.

“You’d fuck me so good. You’d fuck me until I was open and loose and ready and wet, just like I did to you, wouldn’t you? You’d knot me, wouldn’t you? Unable to resist when I begged you for it, ready to be filled the way only you can. You would fuck me until I couldn’t walk and you had to carry me into the shower. You would fill me up with your come, make me smell like yours, make it clear to everyone to keep their hands off me.”

Derek moaned, speeding up. The slick heat between Stiles thighs was where already too much.

“I need you to fuck me, harder, more, please,” Stiles whimpered. 

Derek did, hands bruising gribs against Stiles’ hips, fucking his thighs like there was no tomorrow. He was fast approaching another climax, had never really come down from the first or second.

“Fuck, Derek, please.”

Derek wasn’t sure how much longer he could last. Something about Stiles made him lose all control, made him mad with want.

Derek gripped him harder.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles whimpered again. Derek wanted to fuck him until he was unable to form words. “You want to mark me as yours, don’t you? You want everyone to see that I’m yours to touch, yours to fuck. Yours.”

Yes, yes, yes. Derek wanted.

“You can. You can mark me. Fuck, Derek, you know how easy I bruise. It wouldn’t even be hard, would it, to leave marks for the world to see?”

It wouldn’t. Stiles bruised like a peach, and he would look so beautiful with red and purple bruises on his neck, his chest, from Derek. No one would ever take a look at him and think that Stiles was theirs for taking. They would know he wasn’t.

Derek pressed an openmouthed, hungry kiss to the back of Stiles neck.

“I’m sensitive too,” Stiles said. “You can do it. You can bruise me.”

It was all it took before Derek spilled between Stiles’ thighs, climax taking him by surprise. One moment he was fucking Stiles wilder and wilder, the next he was moaning his way through another orgasm, emptying himself.

Stiles made pleased noises too. Derek moved his hips, everything impossibly hotter and wetter now.

“Oh fuck. I wish I could get ready as fast as you can.”

Derek said nothing, just pushed Stiles to lie on his back, spreading his thighs to admire the mess he’d made of him. Stiles was blushing, all the way down to his chest. His inner thighs were a lovely shade of pink too, glistening with lube and come in the most obscene way. He looked fucked. It was a good look on him.

Derek wanted to lick him, to taste, wanted to know if the combination of him and Stiles was as delicious as he imagined it to be.

Derek’s dick had finally started softening, his knot going down. It would’ve been a relief if not for the look in Stiles’ eyes. Derek shuddered, not sure if he was entirely comfortable being at the receiving end of that look.

“Three orgasms, Derek,” Stiles said with a smirk. “I promised you two more than that.” 

Derek wasn’t sure he had two more in him. The last one had stolen his breath, his brain, his ability to move his legs. 

Stiles didn’t seem to care that they were both covered in Derek’s come, wet, sticky and cold when he reversed their positions. 

Derek was lying in his own wet spot, a cold, cruel reminder that Stiles was in charge of Derek’s orgasms. When he would have them. How. Where. 

Stiles straddled his legs, a predatory grin spreading across his lips. The wetness of his thighs rubbed against Derek. 

“I thought about drawing out all of your orgasms, let you ride that edge for hours upon hours between release,” Stiles told him, caressing his thighs. “But fuck, you look so good when you come. It’s almost better than seeing you squirm in desperation. I think I’ll play nice. This round.”

Derek swallowed.

“I have plans, you see. Your sex toys are horribly lacking, there’s no remote controlled vibrating butt plug. There should be. I’ll get you one.”

“Today?” Derek asked hoarsely. His dick gave an interested twitch. Fuck. He would be hard again soon. Even for him that was fast.

Stiles snickered. “Beacon Hills don’t have any sexstores, silly.”

No, there probably wasn’t. Derek wouldn’t know, he had never gone looking for it. But it seemed like something Stiles would know.

“But imagine, what we could do with one of those. I could keep you on edge an entire day. Have you hard and wild and desperate without touching you. Without being in the room. You wouldn’t know when I turned it on, wouldn’t have any other option but to just take what I would give you. I might make you come in your pants like a teenager without self control, I might make you ride the edge the entire day, and you wouldn’t know which it was going to be.”

Derek gasped for air. He could all too well imagine that, the onslaught, his ass filled, Stiles entirely in control.

“You could take it out, of course, but there would be consequences. I might not let you come at all, that day, if you did that.”

Derek whined. “I wouldn’t.”

“I know you wouldn’t. Do you know how I know?”

Derek nodded. He knew. Stiles had told him enough that he knew.

“How do I know, Derek?”

Was he really going to force him to say it? His face was impossibly hot as he whispered: “Because I’m your good boy.”

The smile Stiles send him was entirely worth it. Derek would say anything to get to see that look on Stiles’ face again.

“Exactly. You are very good. And do you know what good boys get?”

Biting his lip, Derek nodded.

“What do they get?”

“To come.”

Stiles smiled wider, showing off all his teeth. “Yes, that too.”

A promise? A threat? Moments ago Derek had thought it would take a while for him to get hard. His refractory period after knotting tended to be long, but there he was, spurting an aching erection already. Maybe it wouldn’t be difficult to come a fourth time.

“You can touch my hair. I like it when it’s pulled a little,” Stiles said.

Derek barely registered the words before Stiles was moving down, leaving come and lube to stick and dry against Derek’s thighs. The smell of sex, of them, was overwhelming.

Stiles was getting hard again too, Derek could smell it in the air, the slow buildup of arousal, want, need. Derek’s mouth watered again, the need to taste it. If he asked really nicely, if he begged, maybe Stiles would allow him to suck his dick? 

Open mouthed, sloppy kisses were pressed against his thighs. Derek watched, unable to tear his gaze away as Stiles moved up, slow, slow, torturously so. His dick twitched, leaking precum onto the mess on his stomach.

Stiles licked his thigh, pressed a kiss to it, nipped at it.

Derek moaned. It was on the verge of pain, just enough to make his nerve endings sing in pleasure. Another bite, harder this time, gentle kisses pressed to the throbbing skin.

Stiles licked at the junction between his hip and groin, following the v-line with his tongue, humming as if he liked the taste there.

Teasing, wet kisses were pressed all around Derek’s junk, only warm huffs of breath ghosting where he needed touch the most. Stiles was teasing, slow movements. He kept his eyes on Derek, a mischievous glint making them light up.

He remembered what Stiles had said. Hair. It took all he had to get his hand to understand the command, all brain power going to his dick. Stiles’ hair was soft underneath his fingers, silky, hard to get a grab on.

Derek managed to curl his fingers against Stiles’ scalp, wind pieces of hair between them. He pulled, gently, experimenting.

There was a soft intake of breath. Oh, so he really liked that, didn’t he? Derek couldn’t wait to find out what else Stiles liked.

Derek tugged harder. In reward Stiles liked a warm stripe from Derek’s shaft, all the way up to the tip of his dick. Another blowjob? Derek wanted another blowjob so bad. The first had been beyond great, but he’d been too desperate to really appreciate Stiles’ skill.

His arousal was easier to control this time around, less overwhelming after the previous three orgasms.

But clearly Stiles’ didn’t intend for it to stay that way; he moved, forcing Derek to spread his legs with a ‘good boy’, before putting his mouth back on him. He licked Derek, lapped at him as if Derek was an ice cream in hot weather. Long licks, all the way from his balls to the tip, small, slow movements meant to tease.

Derek’s hand tightened in Stiles hair, and he hummed in approval. Stiles spread his legs further, made him hitch up his hips. He kissed the soft skin between his thigh and groin, licking there, tasting. The sounds he made were filled with approval.

Derek wanted him to move further in, further back, to eat him out like he’d almost done in the shower. That had been so hot. 

Stiles didn’t. He pressed a flat tongue to the skin between Derek’s balls and ass, licking all the way up, leaving him moaning and gasping for air. He kissed around the abused skin of Derek’s rim, grazing the butt plug, teasing.

He slowly helped Derek’s hips back into the bed. He took his sweet time looking Derek over, eyes half hooded. Stiles was hard, his dick red and angry and proud in front of him. Once again Derek was flooded with the urge to suck him off. 

Derek whimpered. He wanted Stiles in his mouth, Stiles’ mouth back on him. He wanted Stiles to fuck him again, to make him so sore even werewolf healing powers was helpless.

Stiles clearly had other plans, as he leaned down over Derek again. He licked Derek’s dick with gusto. He pressed against the butt plug, alternating the pressure. It was maddening, not enough, never enough, and Derek could do nothing but tighten his fingers in Stiles’ soft hair.

“Please,” he whimpered, unsure of what he was asking for. Stiles was using the head of his dick as a lollipop, swirling his tongue around it, licking, sucking, leaving everything else wet and cold and exposed. He wanted him to continue, wanted him to stop.. He wanted the feverish feeling of being so turned on to last, he wanted it to end.

Stiles looked up, mischievousness in his eyes. He let go of Derek’s dick, pressed wet kisses against the drying come on his stomach and licked his lips. Stiles dipped down, another kiss, slowly moving up. Warm, wet kisses were pressed against Derek’s chest, swirls of tongue near his nipples.

It was maddening. Derek whimpered, trying to put his needs into the simple sounds. Stiles’ erection brushed against his thigh as he took Derek’s nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. It was a fast track to his dick, making the pleasure build heavy in his stomach. He would be ready to come soon if Stiles kept it up. Fuck. He cried out as Stiles sucked again.

Derek’s hips moved. He needed friction, he needed something against his dick. Stiles bit his nipple in retaliation, pressing a soft kiss to it. His lips were spit slick, red, hair a mess beneath Derek’s hand. He looked like something from a porn, sinful, fucked.

Stiles moved back down, forcefully licking Derek’s dick. The onslaught was almost too much. Derek kept looking, kept staring, unable to tear his gaze away. Stiles looked perfect with his mouth on Derek’s dick.

Stiles kept licking, breathy moans escaping his throat. Derek could smell his building arousal.

“Stiles, please,” he whimpered.

A hand snuck up his side, pinching his nipple as Stiles licked up his shaft.

Derek was doing everything he could to hold back, the pleasure rising inside him, fuck he was so close.

Stiles twisted his fingers, pain and pleasure mixing through Derek’s body. He bucked his hips against Stiles lips, unable to stop himself. 

He whimpered, moving desperately against the sheets. 

Stiles hummed, approval. Good. Derek was unable to stop the small, aborted thrusts against Stiles tongue, seeking out the wet, warm heat as Stiles licked the head, moaning.

And Derek finally remembered that he was allowed to come. Stiles had said he was a good boy. Good boys got orgasms. Derek was Stiles’ good boy. Stiles wouldn’t mind.

Stiles licked down his balls, nipped at the soft skin just beside them. Derek cried out again, warning this time. “I’m clo…”

Whitehot pleasure overwhelmed him. He emptied himself all over his stomach while Stiles mouthed at his shaft, his balls, twisting his nipple. Warm come was dripping down his stomach, chest, chin. 

Stiles continued to lick him through the aftershock. Derek whimpered.

Derek gasped against the ruined sheets as Stiles finally stopped. He let go of Stiles’ hair, hand falling limply to the side.

“I love the refractory period of werewolves,” Stiles told him with a smirk.

He was lounging between Derek’s spread legs, erection standing red and proud in front of his stomach.

“You’re beautiful,” Derek slurred. He kept looking over Stiles, kept drinking in the sight of long, lean limbs, dotted with moles. Of the flush to Stiles’ face, his chest, how he was breathing fast.

“Thank you.” There was something soft in his smile. 

Derek mustered all his power, grabbed Stiles wrist and tried to drag him down. He wanted to curl up around Stiles, nap with him. The movement caused the butt plug to shift, a reminder that he was still filled with Stiles’ come. Fuck. It shouldn’t be so hot.

Stiles padded his thigh and got up from the bed. Derek wondered if he should offer to do anything about Stiles’ erection. He wanted to, but trying to move proved more difficult than first anticipated.

Longingly he looked at Stiles' ass as he walked out the room. It was a good ass. It was an ass Derek wanted to fuck. When he could move.

There was water running, his bathroom cabinets being opened.

Derek closed his eyes, resting them for just a moment He listened to the soft sound of Stiles’ bare feet against his floors as he re-entered the bedroom.

“I figured you would be too tired for a shower,” Stiles told him. “And I don’t want to leave you alone right now. So a sponge bath it is.”

Derek blinked, opened his mouth to protest. There was absolutely no reason he couldn’t be left alone. But Stiles shut him down before he could say as much.

“Nope, that’s non-negotiable. I don’t know you well enough yet to do that.”

Derek grumbled. He was an adult, and very capable of napping in his bed alone, even if he didn’t want to.

A warm, wet washcloth was brought over his thighs, his stomach and chest. He tried to wiggle away when Stiles started washing his groin, the roughness of the washcloth uncomfortable.

“I know, I know,” Stiles told him.

Through half-lidded eyes Derek watched as Stiles gave himself a quick wash.

“I know you’re a cuddler,” Stiles told him. “I’ll get you a glass of water. You will drink it, and then we can take a nap.”

Derek made a sound, one Stiles clearly took as confirmation. Soft feet against wood, into the bathroom, back out, into the kitchen. Stiles belonged there. His sounds belonged in Derek’s loft. It was right. It felt alive, with Stiles padding around like that.

Stiles returned with the promised glass of water. He had to help Derek sit up enough to drink it, his body boneless and without joints.

Stiles had done that to him.

And Stiles, the fucker, seemed to realize that too. There was a satisfied smirk around his lips as he helped Derek drink.

He placed the glass on the bedside table.

“You,” Derek said.

Grinning, Stiles said: “Me.”

“Water.”

Derek would’ve heard it if Stiles had taken anything to drink in the kitchen. Stiles didn’t move, so Derek used his last powers, poking at his chest to get him to listen. Stiles needed to take care of himself too. He would be fine for the moment alone.

“You’re sweet,” Stiles said. His voice was soft around the edges, fond.

Derek glared at him until he got off the bed, continued to glare at his back until he could no longer see him. Satisfied he listened to the sounds of Stiles gulping down two glasses of water before returning.

“Happy?”

He hummed to let Stiles know that he was satisfied indeed. Stiles slipped into the bed, guiding Derek onto his side, cuddling against his back. Derek had always taken himself for a big spoon. That’s what he’d been with his former partners.

But having Stiles against his back felt good and right. He closed his eyes and let Stiles’ even breathing lull him to sleep.

Derek woke to the sound of the shower running. There was off-key singing. Stiles. It wasn’t the first time Stiles had showered at the loft, but it felt good to know that he was comfortable enough to not wake Derek up to ask if it was okay.

Derek stretched, wincing. He’d forgotten the butt plug for a moment.

He reeked of sex. His bed reeked of sex. The sheets were downright nasty. He would have to change those, but part of him didn’t want to. He liked the way it smelled like him and Stiles. Instead he laid back down, closing his eyes again. He’d barely started to drift off when Stiles came back into the bedroom.

“Do you have any clothes that might fit me?” Stiles asked.

Derek grumbled, opening one eye. He was not ready to deal with the world. 

Stiles was drying his hair with a white towel, stark naked. Water droplets were running down over the planes of his stomach where he’d neglected to dry himself properly.

He felt very awake very fast. “No. No clothes.”

“But Derek, you caveman, I can’t go out like this. Just because you like my naked ass doesn’t mean the entirety of Beacon Hills will appreciate it!”

Derek squinted. If people didn’t appreciate Stiles naked form it was on them. It was a crime to cover him up.

“And I’m hungry, and you’ve got literally zero food in your fridge. You’ve got mustard! Mustard! What sort of person only has mustard? Everyone knows ketchup is superior.”

It had been a while since he’d last gone grocery shopping, but was it really that bad?

“Okay, you also had a glass of pickled cucumber. But that was it !”

“Gimme a moment,” he said, sitting up slowly. It was a weird feeling, having a butt plug up his ass. A good weird. He’d never worn it for prolonged periods of times, never entertained the thought of going out wearing it. How would it feel to sit in a restaurant, hard chairs with no give?

He would find out soon, he realized. Because Stiles was not one to make light of his promises.

Stiles tripped impatiently around the room, drying the same patch of hair he’d been drying since he entered. Derek got up from the bed, sat down Stiles on the edge, away from the white spots of dried semen, and helped him dry his hair.

“How are you so bad at this?”

“Bad at what? I’m literally the best person there is at drying my own hair.”

The amount of water still left in his hair begged to differ, but Derek just huffed. It wasn’t worth it to try and convince Stiles otherwise, not when Derek had seen him forget that he was eating in the middle of chewing. Scatterbrain was very much a thing for Stiles, especially when he was focused on other things.

“God, I wish I wasn’t so hungry. If I was less hungry we could just, you know, drop the food and fuck. If you had food we could’ve gone for a snack, then a fuck, but no. No, you can make pickled cucumber with mustard, which isn’t very nice. I bet you don’t even have… what would one serve with that? Tell me? Bread? Pasta? Rice? I mean, nothing really sounds appealing. Hotdogs, maybe, but those require sausages you don’t have, and hotdog bread, which, I doubt you have.”

Derek handed Stiles the towel again, leaving him to dry the water of his chest and collarbones as he went rummaging.

“Do you want to borrow boxers as well?” he asked. He didn’t mind Stiles going commando in his pants, but for some people (Derek) sharing underwear was usually a step too far. Too intimate. It made his underwear smell wrong, or him smell of other people, and that wasn’t something he usually liked. But considering that Stiles had just fucked Derek several different ways, well, intimacy wasn’t really an issue.

Stiles looked at him thoughtfully. “I quite like the idea. Of being all dressed up in your things. I would smell like you too, then, wouldn’t I?”

Derek nodded.

“Fuck yeah. You don’t have anything pretty, do you?” Stiles threw him a wink, clearly teasing. Derek’s mouth went dry at the thought of Stiles in something see-through and lacy. Something that would show, rather than hide. Enhancing his gorgeous ass, his erection poking out the top, leaking precum. 

“Is that something you’d like?” Stiles asked, having interpreted Derek’s sudden silence and wide-eyed staring just right.

Unable to find words, Derek threw a pair of boring, black boxers at him.

Stiles grinned and pulled them up. Derek rummaged around his closet, finally reaching a pair of jeans he’d outgrown but for some reason never parted with. They were elastic, tight fitting, ripped. They weren’t something he usually wore, but he had felt daring when he bought them. They’d looked great in the store, and then they’d lived in his closet ever since.

Of course Stiles looked amazing wearing them. They fit like a glove over his lean legs, skin white against the darkness of the fabric.

“Damn Derek, why aren’t you wearing more stuff like that? Oh, let me guess, it’s because you know you’d be jumped by horny people if you went out like this! Especially wearing your leather jacket, damn, I wouldn’t be able to resist.”

Derek wasn’t able to resist Stiles wearing them either. In two long strides he was there, pushing Stiles towards the bed, mouthing at his neck, desperate to taste and touch all of a sudden.

Stiles slid a hand down Derek’s ass, a gentle reminder that he was plugged up to be ready whenever Stiles wanted to fuck him.

Derek groaned against Stiles’ neck.

“You need a shower,” Stiles told him. “And clothes. And then we’ll go out to eat, and once we get back I will show you exactly what happens to good boys like you.”

Derek wanted to know now. He wanted to rip the jeans off Stiles, or parade him around in them. Maybe have Stiles fuck him wearing them. It would be hot, pushing them down just enough for his dick to get free, the rough denim against the back of Derek’s thighs as Stiles used him.

“I should’ve given you uglier clothes,” Derek protested.

Laughing, Stiles pushed him off.

Derek backed away, glaring in protest. He wanted. Stiles made him want. Would the want ever stop? He’d had four fucking orgasms in the past few hours. By all means he should feel sated, not more horny. Clearly Stiles was a bad influence.

Derek tossed him a t-shirt and marched off to the shower, all too aware of the hardness from his erection, not helped by the butt plug pushing against his inner walls with every movement.

He contemplated jerking off in the shower, just to take off the edge.

But Stiles had been right. Riding the edge of pleasure was a high, and Derek wanted that. He wanted to be good for Stiles, wanted to show him he could wait.

So he didn’t touch himself outside the bare minimum needed to get clean. It was an exercise in self control.

Still hard, but a lot cleaner (and drier than Stiles had managed) he re emerged from the shower.

“I found some clothes for you,” Stiles told him, holding out a bundle of clothes.

Derek shrugged and grabbed the clothes. There was nothing special about it as far as he could tell. He didn’t care much for what he was wearing either way. As long as he could move in it freely, it was all good.

“What’s the time?” he asked. He’d lost sense of time after he’d been grabbed. It had been dark when they came home, but considering it was winter that meant they’d arrived back home somewhere around late afternoon. He had a feeling getting the duct tape off had taken hours, and then more time had passed with sex, but truth being told he had no idea.

“Eight PM,” Stiles informed him. “A late dinner.”

“We can find something quick,” Derek suggested, not for entirely selfless reasons.

Stiles smirked. “As long as it’s decent food. I could go for a steak and fries, I think.”

Derek nodded his agreement. Now that Stiles was talking about better food than pickled mustard cucumber, Derek could feel his own hunger cues. He’d not had anything to eat all day, to be fair. Not even breakfast.

“And dessert.”

“A man after my own heart,” Stiles declared with a grin.

Derek flushed, looking away. There was no use in thinking it had been more than it was; a good fuck. Stiles could fuck him like that any time, any day, Derek would be up for that.

He put on the clothes Stiles had put forth.

“Does it feel okay with the butt plug?”

He nodded. It was more than okay, it was keeping something of Stiles inside him, making him smell like they belonged together even after a shower. It was a reminder with every movement that what they’d done hadn’t been a wet dream. It was great.

Stiles grabbed his wrist, tugging him out the loft. Derek barely grabbed his keys in their hurry out.

Like the asshole he was, Stiles crowded him in the elevator, kissing him senseless on the way down. 

Derek contemplated hitting the emergency button, stopping the stupid thing, just to continue. He would let Stiles fuck him in the elevator, plug him back up and take him to dinner. They would smell like sex. Derek would either be hard or wear sticky underwear. He didn’t care. He wanted Stiles in him.

“Fuck,” he moaned into Stiles’ mouth. His hands had moved towards the control panel all on their own. It was sheer willpower that kept him from pressing it. That, and the knowledge that Stiles wouldn’t give him what he wanted until after dinner.

Too soon and not soon enough they were in the parking basement. Derek adjusted himself, trying to hide his very obvious boner. Stiles did the same, except he kept his eyes on Derek as he adjusted himself in the tight, ripped jeans.

Would Derek ever be able to look at Stiles the same way again? Knowing what he looked like turned on? Sounded like when he came? Derek was pretty sure that ship had sailed. Just like sex with other people was ruined for him, Stiles had changed something between them so easily. Derek had gone along with it, not knowing what he wanted, needed, until he’d had it.

Stiles was amazing. Beautiful. Loyal. Stiles was everything Derek wanted.

He realized that maybe, just maybe, they would need to talk. Somewhere between dinner and another orgasm or somewhere after that, they would have to talk. He knew himself; if he let Stiles out the loft without talking, he would ruin it with overthinking. 

Something had changed between them, and they needed to address it. He wasn’t sure where the line had been. Was it when Stiles offered to wash the duct tape off him? When he started with his feet instead of arms? When Derek got hard, and allowed Stiles to touch him? Somewhere after that? 

It didn’t matter. But Derek wanted it to happen again. Everything but the duct tape, probably. 

Getting inside the car was an experience, the plug moving inside him. Sitting down was another thing entirely. The bed had been more forgiving than the leather seats. 

He tried to keep the sounds back, but fuck, he was so turned on.

Stiles looked at him with hunger in his eyes. “I can’t wait until we get back,” he told Derek, leaning over to press a palm against his bulging erection. His underwear was damp with precum already.

“You need to stop,” he whimpered.

Stiles withdrew, something almost akin to hurt in his eyes. “Was it too much? I’m sorry, Derek, we can stop if you don’t…”

“No, no, that’s not it. Fuck, Stiles, I want. I want so much.”

Stiles kept looking at him with that horrible insecurity in his eyes. How could he think it was too much? Derek had agreed to everything up until that point, hadn’t he? Enjoyed it.

“I can’t drive safely while you do that,” Derek explained.

“Ah,” Stiles said.

“And I would really rather that we aren’t stopped because I swear all over the road.”

Stiles swallowed audibly, withdrawing his hand. “Yeah, I guess it would be a rather awkward talk with my dad if we were stopped by him or one of the deputies.” He grimaced. “I don’t need Dad to know anything about my sexlife. Like I mean, I’m sure no one can blame me for having a hard time keeping my fingers off you, you being as hot as you are, but still. Just, no.” 

Derek wholeheartedly agreed. They would make it to a restaurant. They would behave, so they weren’t arrested for public indecency. They would drive home, they would fuck again. 

It would be great. And Derek could shove his stupid crush up his ass, because for Stiles, clearly it was nothing more than a good, convenient fuck. And it was fine. Derek was more than fine with that. 

He pushed the car into reverse, turned it a bit faster than he’d maybe meant to. 

They drove through the city at a more leisure pace. 

“Where do you want to eat?” Derek asked, his stomach grumbling. It was hard work coming four times. Stiles had made him come four times. He squirmed in the seat, butt plug brushing against his walls in a teasing manner. 

“The diner?” Stiles suggested. “Food is good, service is fast. And they got ribeye. I could kill for a good ribeye.”

“Please don’t.”

Derek turned right, steering towards the diner. At quarter past eight a Monday it wasn’t very busy, the parking lot mostly deserted.

Stiles intertwined their fingers and led Derek to “my favorite boot. It’s nice. I have an overview over the entire restaurant, yet it’s private,” he’d said.

Honestly, Derek wasn’t paying much attention to where they sat. Every stepped from the car to the boot was torture, the butt plug brushing against his prostate when he moved.

It was not helped by sitting down. His face was flushed, he could feel the heat radiating off his cheeks.

Stiles grinned at him, eyes hungry, wolfish. 

He squirmed. It had been better sitting in the car seat, the angle different. Focusing on the road helped too, he figured. In the secluded boot, all he could focus on was Stiles and the big butt plug up his ass, pressing against his prostate.

“Ribeye, fries?” Stiles asked.

Derek nodded his agreement. “A big one for me. I’m paying.”

Derek felt like it was the last he could do after having had four orgasms courtesy of Stiles.

“Okay, big buy.”

In the end, Stiles ordered a big steak too. Curly fries for him, regular for Derek. 

He didn’t get the whole point of curly fries, it made them more difficult to dip. They were dangly.

Stiles decided to go on a rant about the superiority of curly fries while they waited. His movements animated in passion. Stiles approached everything with passion. Derek liked that about him. Especially when said passion was directed at Derek.

Derek squirmed in his seat. It was all too easy to think back. He was still hard in his pants, wet, wanting. The butt plug made it impossible to forget Stiles promises of more after dinner. 

“So you see. Curly fries are the best fries,” Stiles said. 

He shrugged. He’d watched Stiles more than listened to his words, and fries where fries. 

The wonderful smell of red meat and fries reached his nostrils a moment before the waiter reached their table with their orders. The amount of food was obscene, barely staying on their plate. 

Stiles licked his lips. Derek wanted to lean over the table and kiss him, lick into him. Knowing that Stiles was a great kisser was distracting. 

“Damn, that’s a lot,” Stiles said as the plate was placed in front of him. 

Derek’s stomach growled. 

“Enjoy, you two,” said the waiter with a smile. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.” 

Stiles returned the smile with a big, genuine one. “Thank you, we will.” 

He was breathtakingly beautiful, Derek thought. He watched as Stiles took one of the awkwardly dangly curly fries and dipped it into the sauce. Watched the fry disappear into Stiles' mouth. He barely chewed before swallowing, licking his lips free of sauce, fat and salt. 

Derek almost choked on his saliva when Stiles proceeded to do the same thing to his fingers. It was too slow not to be deliberate, Stiles’ smile all too knowing. 

Fuck. 

His dick twitched in interest. There was a wetness spreading where he was steadily leaking precum. 

He hurried to pay full attention to his own meal. Even when Stiles nudged his ankle he didn’t look up. There was such a thing as challenging his self control too much in public, and watching Stiles lick his fingers suggestively while Derek was hard and plugged was it. He wanted to devour Stiles. 

There was a long time until they were back home. 

Derek wolfed his food down. He had no problems devouring everything. Stiles struggled after having eating two thirds of his plate, pushing it to the side. 

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s great. I just don’t have any more space in me,” Stiles complained. 

Derek eyed his plate hungrily. 

“Go ahead, big guy.” 

Derek switched their plates and ate Stiles’ leftovers with gusto. The curly fries tasted nice, but he still found them difficult to dip. It amused Stiles, if his smile was anything to go by.

“How are you not fat?” Stiles asked, ogling as Derek placed his utensils nicely on the empty plate.

“Excellent metabolism and training regimen,” Derek told him. Honestly, the training was secondary. He did that because he loved it. Loved the self discipline that went into sticking to a training regiment, the way his body burned from exertion. He was naturally inclined towards building muscle, instead of gaining fat. Thank you genetics and werewolf metabolism. 

“Damn, I can’t have that.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. There was absolutely no reason that Stiles couldn’t have a great training regiment. Getting a supernatural metabolism without being supernatural, he would admit, might be a bit more difficult.

He told Stiles that and was rewarded with a laugh.

Their plates were cleared off the table with a promise of dessert. Derek asked for a cup of coffee with his, because fuck it, he still hadn’t had one.

“Coffee? Planning on an all-nighter?” Stiles asked with a wink. 

Derek was, sorta. Or at least a late night, kept up by Stiles and amazing sex. But that was not the reason. He moved, trying to sit more comfortably. His ass clenched around the butt plug, sending shivers down his spine.

“I never got a cup this morning. I was on the way out for breakfast and coffee when I was kidnapped,” he explained.

Stiles made a sympathetic face. “Damn, before your morning coffee?”

Derek nodded, moved again. Stiles smirked, probably very aware why Derek shifted around. 

“No wonder you were so grumpy.” 

Derek huffed. Stiles would probably have been grumpy if he’d started his morning getting hit on the head, abducted and covered in duct tape. It took the price for badly started Mondays. 

He had to admit that what had happened after Scott left had more than made up for it. He would take another hit to the head and duct tape session for the chance of another round of equally epic sex.

Which reminded him – “are you going to tell Scott?”

“Tell Scott what?”

“That we’re fucking. He’s going to be able to smell it on you.”

Stiles grimaced. “Oh fuck, I’d forgotten about your sense of smell. Do I smell like you?” 

Derek didn’t need to lean forward and smell Stiles to know he did, but he found himself doing so anyway. He inhaled the intoxicating scent, breathed in deeply. The butt plug shifted with him, grinding inside him. It was tempting to move back against it. To fuck himself on it, as much as he could.

“Yes.” 

Stiles squirmed. “Ye-ah. That’s gonna be awkward, isn’t it?”

Derek shrugged. Scott was, thankfully, not his best friend, and therefore not his problem to deal with. “At least he knows you’re into guys.” Which was more than any of Derek’s betas knew. He’d only been dating women in the past. Clearly that had been a mistake. 

“Yeah, probably,” Stiles agreed.

Derek raised an eyebrow.

Stiles squirmed again, as if he was the one with a big butt plug up his ass. “What do you want me to do, Derek? He’s about as observant as a… I don’t even know, something unobservant, okay? I’ve never been subtle. Subtlety is not what I’m great at, it really isn’t. I’ve been very clear about my sexuality, but I just don't think he’s picked up on it. And about being into you. I mean, everyone should be into you. You’re hot.”

Swallowing, Derek tried to figure out a proper reply. Everything Stiles said confirmed it was nothing but a good fuck for him, and Derek was alone in his stupid crush that had taken him too long to name. 

Grimacing, Stiles looked away. “Yeah, I’m not all that impressed with him either.”

Their dessert arrived. And Derek’s coffee. Finally. He licked his lips, digging into the banana split with gusto. Stiles attacked his ice cream like he hadn’t just eaten.

The faster they ate, the faster they could get back home. The faster they were home, the faster Derek would’ve the butt plug replaced with something he’d much, much rather have.

He hoped Stiles hadn’t eaten too much to give him his fifth orgasm. Need had been thrumming underneath his skin for what felt like hours. He was still hard, clenching around the butt plug every so often to remind himself it was still there. 

They finished eating fast, both hungry for something else entirely. Derek paid, adding a generous tip. They hadn’t been indecent, he didn’t think so, but just to be certain he figured a good tip might be a good plan.

Stiles grabbed his hand again as they walked out the parking lot. Derek tried not to read anything into it.

The drive home was way too slow. All too aware of what was about to happen, Derek had a hard time sitting still. Every bump in the road reminded him what Stiles wanted to do to him. What Stiles had already done to him.

His throat felt dry as he parked, dick straining against his pants. It was uncomfortable and he wanted out of them as soon as possible.

“I’ve been good too,” Stiles told him as he turned the key, killing the engine. “I haven’t touched you at all. Even though I wanted to.”

Derek flushed, very aware. Stiles’ body language hadn’t been subtle. He’d kept Derek hard, squirming against the butt plug, leaking precum into his underwear throughout the entire dinner. His boxers felt soaked, wet and sticky against his dick. 

He needed Stiles to get out of the car, up into the apartment and for him to fuck him senseless. He’d needed that since they left. 

“We could fuck in here, Derek. We could fuck on the backseat of your car.”

Whimpering, Derek closed his eyes. He could all too well imagine it, Stiles dragging him around the car, pushing him face-down into the car seats and have his way with him. His face heated. They could be discovered, someone could see them. See Derek bent over and fucked in his own car. His face felt warm. 

“I would be nice,” Stiles said, a hand on Derek’s knee. “I would open your pants, just drag your boxers down enough for me to fuck you, so when you came on my dick, you wouldn’t make a mess of your car.”

Derek wanted that. 

“I think you would come before me. You’ve been desperate for a while now, haven’t you?” Derek nodded. “Mhm, I like you desperate, you know that. I would fuck you through your orgasm, and then I would continue to use you. You’d beg me to stop. You’d tell me it was too much, too soon. You sound so good when you beg. I would reach around, rub you through your soaked underwear, and you’d take it. Even though you’d just come, you’d let me rub you back into hardness. You’d cry, but you’d let me.”

Yes, yes, Derek would. Stiles hand moved to his thigh, a slow, deliberate movement.

Derek tried to sit still, but he wanted something, anything. Friction, for the butt plug to move inside him, for it to give him some stimulation as Stiles talked.

“You really like that, don’t you?” Stiles pressed a sloppy kiss to the sensitive skin beneath Derek’s ear. “Oh I can tell you do. You want to be used. You’re practically begging for it.”

“Please,” he whimpered.

The parking lot was communal. Everyone could walk in. It should’ve been a turn off. It wasn’t.

“Please what?”

“Please, please, fuck me, Stiles,” Derek begged. His dick twitched, more precum leaking, adding to the mess. 

Stiles didn’t. Stiles wasn’t one to show mercy, Derek should’ve known that by now. Instead he moved his hand, pushing against Derek’s leaking erection, providing just enough pressure for it to feel really fucking good.

Derek whimpered, pushing against Stiles hand, hips moving in small aborted motions, pushing the butt plug in, his dick against Stiles’ hand. It felt amazing. It felt so amazing. He could come like that, rutting against Stiles’ dick.

Everyone could walk by and see them. Derek couldn’t find it in himself to give a shit.

Stiles kept mouthing at his neck. The smell of arousal was heavy in the car.

Derek was close. So fucking close. He moaned, movements growing more erratic. His boxers were slippery against the head of his dick, providing a delicious glide. Fuck.

“Do you really want to come like this, Derek?” Stiles asked, voice low and suggestive. “Or would you like to go upstairs with me to be fucked?”

Both. Couldn’t he have both?

He whimpered in response. He needed to get off, preferably right now. He needed Stiles inside him. Why hadn’t Stiles taken him on the backseat? There was space. Screw everyone else, Derek needed to get fucked. 

It took everything he had to gasp out ‘upstairs’, for Stiles to move his hand. Derek’s hips kept going, seeking a friction no longer there.

He was so close. His eyes were stinging. Was Stiles going to tease him into tears again? He wasn’t sure if it was fear or anticipating running down his spine, making him shudder.

“Good boy,” Stiles told him.

Anticipation. Definitely anticipation. He swallowed, gasped for air. He took a moment to collect himself before he opened the car, stepping out. Moving with precum soaked underwear wasn’t comfortable.

Stiles smirked at him over the car.

The ride up the elevator was torture. Stiles made him face the wall, as if he was a naughty child sent to the corner, and then he rubbed himself against Derek’s ass. Derek could easily feel the hardness and warmth of Stiles’ erection through his jeans. His soft moans were maddening, driving Derek crazy with need.

All Derek could do was bent over as much as Stiles would let him, and let himself be dry humped, the butt plug shifting with each movement of Stiles hips against his ass.

Finally the elevator dinged. Stiles had his hands on Derek as he tried to unlock the door, fumbling with the key. His hands were shaking, his breath coming short. Fuck. What was Stiles doing to him?

Stiles didn’t waste time once the door slammed behind them, crowding Derek against it, pushing their clothed erections against each other, slow movements.

Derek whimpered, the pleasure building fast.

“Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, please.”

“Please what?” Stiles asked, pushing his hips against Derek, making him gasp out.

“Not gonna last. Need you, need you.”

He wanted to come on Stiles’ dick again. Wanted to have his ass used, wanted to feel Stiles fill him with come, and slide the butt plug back into place. Derek would wear it as long as Stiles wanted him to. He would be so good, he would do anything Stiles wanted him to if just Stiles would go ahead and fuck him.

“Fuck, Derek.”

Had he said that out loud? He hadn’t meant to. Stiles made his brain short circuit.

“Get inside the bedroom,” Stiles ordered, taking half a step back.

Derek scrambled to do exactly that, every movement torture. Tears were stinging in his eyes, the need overwhelming, pleasure verging on pain. Derek turned on the light, wanting to see his face as Stiles fucked him into oblivion.

Stiles followed at a much more sedated pace, lounging in the door with his arms crossed. As if he was entirely unaffected by the whole thing. But his breath was coming too fast, his face too flushed, lips red and slick. Most telling of all was the tent in his pants. 

“Get out of your clothes,” Stiles said.

Derek hesitated, feeling shy all of a sudden. Stiles had seen him come multiple times just a few hours ago, there was no reason for shyness all of a sudden. The way Stiles looked at him made him want to hide. He felt seen. It was unnerving. 

Stiles kept watching as he tossed the t-shirt into the corner, unbuttoned his jeans. “Have you been this wet the entire time?” he asked.

Derek nodded, face heating.

Stiles licked his lips. “That’s so fucking hot.”

His pants fell to the floor with a soft thud. He kicked them towards the t-shirt and sat down on the bed to take off his socks. Falling over wasn’t sexy, and he had zero trust in his ability to keep his balance that moment. 

“Boxers too,” Stiles told him.

Derek complied, tossing the precum soaked boxers to the rest of his clothes.

Stiles looked him over, slow, taking his time. 

Derek flushed, trying to look away. He found himself unable to. 

“You can touch yourself,” Stiles said, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt.

Derek wanted to. But he didn’t trust his own frayed self-control much. He would be so close to coming again within a few tugs, and it would be all too easy to spill over the edge, and then Stiles wouldn’t fuck him. 

“Not going to?”

Whimpering, Derek looked down. His dick was standing red, hard and angry. Precum was glistening at the tip. He wanted to. Oh god, he wanted to so badly. 

“You can, Derek. Just soft, teasing touches. No jerking off. But I want you leaking before I’m out of my pants.”

Soft touches he could do. He wouldn’t be able to come from soft touches, right? 

He found his dick was hypersensitive when he finally grazed over it with his fingertips. Just the gentlest touch was enough to send sparks up his spine, down his balls. Fuck. Maybe soft, teasing touches would be all it took. 

Stiles finally got out of his t-shirt. Derek watched him as he toed off the socks, much more elegant than he usually was.

The pants were still unfairly good looking on him. Derek would have to gift them to him and hope he never wore them in public or at a time where he expected Derek to be anything but a horny mess. It was entirely too distracting, the length of Stiles legs in ripped, dark denim. The plane of his stomach. 

Derek kept touching himself, kept it light and teasing and not at all what he needed. He cupped his balls, thumbing at the sensitive skin there. His body was screaming for more. He was whining, low, needy.

Stiles took his sweet fucking time opening the button in his pants, slowly unzipping them. He shimmied out of them, legs even better now when they were no longer covered.

Derek ran fingers up his shaft, caressing the wet head of his erection. He was leaking, just like Stiles had asked him to be.

Stiles ‘ boxers were clinging to his dick too, precum a dark stain over the head of his dick. Licking his lips, Derek wondered what it would feel like to put his mouth there, what it would taste like through the fabric. Would it be good? He thought so. 

Stiles sauntered closer, thumbs at his hips, just inside the boxers.

“Would you like me to get naked?” he asked.

What a dumb question. Derek nodded, throat too dry to form an answer.

Stiles got closer, standing right in front of Derek. He pushed Derek’s knees apart, taking up the space between them. Derek was inches away from Stiles’ dick, the arousal heavy and heady in the air. He could taste it on the tip of his tongue. 

All of a sudden it was too much. “Can I?” he whimpered, looking at where Stiles dick twitched underneath the dark fabric. 

Stiles cocked his head, looked down at Derek. “Can you what?” he asked.

“Taste you,” Derek said, licking his lips again. His voice was hoarse.

“Yes. Fuck yes.”

Derek abandoned his own dick in favor of grabbing Stiles’ thighs, holding him in place. He pressed an open mouthed kiss to the wet spot, licking, tasting. 

Stiles groaned above him, a hand finding its way into Derek’s hair, holding him in place.

Derek pressed another kiss to Stiles erection, and another, each earning him another soft sound. Stiles sounded so good, he smelled so good. His taste was good through the fabric, probably even better without. 

Feeling daring Derek dragged Stiles' boxers down, licking a stripe up Stiles’ dick. The taste was phenomenal. Derek could get addicted to the taste of Stiles, the feeling of silky hot skin underneath his tongue. He took the tip into his mouth, salty, bitter flavor overwhelming him. He groaned around it, rocking his hips against the bed, moving the butt plug. 

He’d never sucked dick before. He’d never thought it was something he would like. But with Stiles moaning softly he found himself impossibly harder, more wanting. He made Stiles sound like that. He made Stiles feel good.

Getting Stiles’ dick into his mouth was a slow process. He wasn’t used to fitting anything of that size in there.

It felt right. It felt good. Like he was meant to have Stiles’ dick in his mouth. The heaviness on his tongue, the way his lips felt, spit slick around the shaft as he went down further. How it hit the back of his mouth before he had to move, choking on it in desperation to get everything in.

He sucked the best he could, hollowing his cheeks like Stiles had done on him. Judging from the desperate, punched out sounds Stiles made, it worked. It felt good for him too. 

He could taste precum on his tongue, the heavy, musky smell that was all Stiles. Fuck, maybe if he continued long enough he could come from the sounds Stiles made, from how it felt to suck is dick.

Derek didn’t need to touch himself to stay right on the edge of coming, not with Stiles dick in his mouth.

“Fuck Derek, you look gorgeus like this,” Stiles told him.

Derek felt gorgeous.

Stiles indulged him for a moment longer, allowing him to suck and lick and taste, then his fingers tightened in Derek’s hair, pulling him off.

“I want to come in your ass again,” Stiles told him. “But fuck you make it hard to hold back.”

Derek licked his lips, looked up at Stiles through heavy lidded eyes. Why did he need to hold back? Couldn’t he just fuck Derek’s mouth, come, then take him again?

Stiles’ hands tightened in his hair, moving his head away. Derek whimpered, wanting his mouth back on Stiles, wanted to such him off until he came. He wanted to swallow Stiles down, wanted to know what it tasted like, felt like. 

Stiles pushed him down on the bed, kissing him hungrily. Derek could do nothing but take it, whimpering into Stiles’ mouth.

“You taste like me. That’s so hot.”

Derek agreed. He liked tasting like Stiles. 

Stiles maneuvered him towards the headboard. “I want to fuck you like this, face to face. I want to see you come on my dick. I want to see you cover yourself in come.” 

He nodded. Anything Stiles wanted.

“Are you close?”

Another nod. He’d been close since they sat inside the car. Stiles had not made it easy for him to control himself. 

“Be a good boy for me and hold back a moment longer,” Stiles said. “I’ll tell you when you can come.”

Derek swallowed. That would be difficult. But he would try. For Stiles he would try his very, very hardest not to come until he was allowed to.

“Can you be a good boy for me?”

“Yes,” Derek rasped.

Stiles smiled. “I know it’s hard, but you are doing so well. Much better than I could’ve ever dreamed you’d do. It’s so hot. You have no idea how hard this is for me.” 

Derek basked in the compliment. They fit well together. They were a great match. He hadn’t known he needed someone to take control, to guide him. But Stiles had, and he’d been right. Derek had needed that all along. 

Stiles gently pried the butt plug out. “Fuck,” he moaned. “You’re so wet, all ready for me. I could just take you like this, damn.”

“Yes, yes,” he agreed, desperately. He wanted Stiles inside him as fast as possible.

Stiles pushed in two fingers instead, angling just so. Derek’s hips jerked as whitehot pleasure shot up his spine.

“Stiles,” he whimpered. Stiles fingered him for a moment longer, claiming he wanted to make certain he wasn’t hurting Derek. 

Derek wanted Stiles to fuck him already. If it hurt a bit, all the better. He wanted the burn, the stretch. Wanted to feel it for days. 

Finally Stiles lifted his hips and lined himself up. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last long.”

Derek wasn’t either. He wanted Stiles to come inside him again.

Stiles pushed in, bottoming out fast, moaning. He didn’t need time to adjust, still wet and lose from earlier.

Derek took him in eagerly, hungry for it. He threw his head back in pleasure as Stiles started moving inside him. His hips snapped against Derek’s ass. 

Stiles guided his legs around his shoulders, and fuck . The angle was merciless, Stiles dick brushing his prostate with every move in and out. Derek cried out in pleasure. He was going to lose it, and he was going to lose it soon.

Stiles kept going, kept fucking into him as Derek writhed against the sheets, unable to do anything but lie there and take what Stiles was giving him.

“Fuck Derek.”

He answered with a moan, whimpering as the need for release built low in his belly, fast approaching. “Stiles, please, please.” He was not gonna last, he wasn’t. He wanted to be good. He wasn’t sure he could.

He cried, tried to hold back. Stiles fucked him harder.

Derek trashed, trying to find relief somewhere. He couldn’t hold back like that, not with Stiles fucking into him, not with Stiles looking like that.

“I’m close,” Stiles moaned, leaning forward, bending Derek nearly in half.

Derek was too.

“Come with me, Derek,” Stiles ordered.

And it was all too easy to let himself fall over the edge, crying out in pleasure, white hot and overwhelming. He shot down his stomach, covered his chest and splattered across his neck. Stiles fucked him through it, following a moment later, emptying himself inside Derek with an aborted cry.

Derek’s legs felt weak, jelly like. He was glad he was on his back.

Stiles was breathing heavily, dick still pulsing inside Derek. His hips made small movements, rocking back and forth, searching for the last pleasure as he emptied himself inside Derek.

They grew soft together. Derek liked the intimacy of it, of feeling Stiles go limp inside him and lax above him.

“We need another shower,” Stiles said.

Derek groaned in protest. He felt certain that he was entirely unable to move any part of his body. But soon come would start leaking out his ass, and he had a feeling that would not necessarily be the most pleasant experience.

“We could shower together,” Stiles suggested. He kissed Derek softly, intimately. It felt good. Derek kissed back, wanting more of that too. 

Showering together was a much more tempting suggestion than showering alone. 

Somehow they made it out to the bathroom, Derek with still warm come running down his stomach and his thighs, Stiles quite a lot cleaner than that.

The water heated quickly, and Derek was grateful that he had a loft with a properly sized shower. Stiles washed him, soaped him down like he’d done earlier that day. Derek made pleased noises throughout it, fully enjoying Stiles’ ministrations. He had clever fingers, knew exactly where Derek would enjoy a bit more pressure, where he should linger. 

There was nothing sexual about the touches, but they where meant for Derek’s pleasure nevertheless. 

Derek doubted that he was able to make it as pleasurable for Stiles, but he tried. Stiles turned into a puddle of goo as Derek washed his hair. He made sure to add pressure like Stiles had done for him. Judging from the soft sounds Stiles made, he was doing well.

“Derek, we really need to do this again,” Stiles said, facing the wall. 

“Which part?” Derek asked, not sure if Stiles referred to him being covered in duct tape, the sex, eating out, more sex or the shower together afterwards. Derek buried his fingers in Stiles’ hair, adding more pressure.

Stiles made an appreciative sound. “All of it?” he suggested. “I could wrap you up next time. After breakfast. If you wanted.”

Derek opened and closed his mouth a few times.

He should hate the idea of being covered in duct tape from head to toe, It should remind him of being abducted, not of Stiles touching him all over.

“Okay. Yeah.” The words were out his mouth before he had even realized it. 

Stiles let him wash his hair and dry him off. It made Derek soft inside, taking care of Stiles. They helped one another to change the bedding. By silent agreement Stiles would stay over for the night.

When he left the next morning Derek figured that was it.

Stiles came back half an hour later with coffee and donuts. They fucked again, without duct tape though. Too much of a hassle for an everyday thing, Stiles said. Derek agreed. It hadn’t been the duct tape that had been great. It had been immobilized, all at Stiles’ mercy.   

“You’re officially the best lay I’ve ever had,” Stiles said. 

Derek hummed his agreement. 

“Do you want to continue doing this?” Stiles asked, leaning towards Derek for a kiss. 

“Yes,” Derek agreed, kissing him. 

He wanted more too. But if all Stiles desired was a good lay, Derek was happy to provide that. Being used by Stiles was amazing, nothing had ever felt as good as sex with him. He didn’t need more than that. 

“I’ll order a vibrating butt plug, then,” Stiles told him. 

Derek’s dick twitched in interest.

“And more sextoys,” he continued. “Your collection is sad. Is werewolf proof handcuffs a thing? Duct tape is so impractical.” 

Derek considered this. “Thick chains will probably work.” 

“Sweet!” 

And just like that, Derek had a fuckbuddy. Derek had Stiles as his fuckbuddy. His betas would never let him live it down, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. He got to have sex with Stiles on a regular basis. Stiles who apparently knew everything Derek hadn’t known he needed. 

It was going to be great. Fuck, it was going to be so great. 

Chapter Text

It was Monday and Derek had woken up alone and with a stubborn, throbbing erection. He was so hard it was bordering on painful. His precum-soaked boxers stuck to the head of his dick. He groaned in annoyance. It seemed to be his new normal, and he was not a fan of waking up alone and horny.

Stiles hadn’t just managed to ruin the prospect of sex with other people for Derek, but his ability to focus on anything but sex as well. 

Quite literally. The only thing his brain seemed to be able to conjure up these days were the feeling of Stiles inside him, his voice, how his breath hitched just before he came. 

Along with that, there was the constant need to touch himself. 

From an experiment carried out of sheer stubbornness of Derek vs erection, he knew that getting up before he had dealt with said need to touch himself was in vain. He would walk around in a lust-haze until he jerked off. That would only buy him so much time before he found himself thinking of Stiles again, which inevitably would start the process over, leaving him well and truly fucked. 

So Derek reached down, took himself in his left hand, touch teasing and light around his dick. It always felt awkward when he used his left, but he needed his right for more important things. 

Derek opened his phone, clicked into his messages and onto the conversation with Stiles. His breath hitched as he scrolled over the conversation from the night before.

I’m coming over tomorrow. 

With a surprise.  

I want you to get yourself ready for me. 

Text me when you get up. 

Use the time to get yourself ready, wet and open for me. 

I don’t want to wait when I arrive. 

It took him three tries to focus enough type back a I’m awake . Followed a few seconds after by Getting myself ready for you.  

Was it too desperate to beg him to hurry up already?

Derek looked at the screen, licking his lips as he gave Stiles a moment to reply. He let his hand tighten around his erection.

His phone stayed quiet. It was early still; it was entirely possible he wasn’t awake yet. Just because Derek's erection thought 7 AM was an appropriate get-up time it didn’t mean Stiles was ready.

Fuck. Derek really, really wanted him to be up and on his way. There was a possibility he would not last, coming way before he was allowed, and another that he might perish from horniness.

Derek groaned, throwing his head back into the pillow in frustration.

He palmed at his dick awkwardly. Left just wasn’t as good. He scrolled up the messages, reading over the conversation as he ran his fingers teasingly over his balls. He tried to imagine Stiles in the bed beside him. His scent still clung to Derek’s pillows, weaker than it had been, but not yet faded. It was not hard to make himself sink into the fantasy of Stiles having slept over, being in the room just beside, waiting for Derek to wake up and get himself ready. 

Would Stiles hear Derek getting ready through the wall? He wasn’t quite in bed. Would he walk in on Derek touching himself? 

Fuck. It was an exhilarating thought, one he didn’t need to entertain much. He wanted that. Wanted to see the raw look of desire on Stiles’ face, hear him gasp as he got confirmation of what Derek was up to. He would hurry towards him on the bed, eager to replace Derek’s fingers with his own. He would want to make sure Derek was so wet he was soaking the sheets beneath them, stretched enough to take him without needing to pause as he bottomed out.

Derek placed his phone face down on his chest, reaching for the bedside drawer, hand still on his dick. For a moment he contemplated doing a minimal amount of prep, just get himself wet enough for a good fuck and leave it at that. He craved the burn of being stretched, craved the overwhelming sensation bordering on pain as Stiles filled him to the brim and fucked him raw. 

He wanted to feel Stiles for days after. He could slow his healing, let himself really feel it every time he sat down, every time he moved. God he loved the feeling of being stretched like that, fucked until everything felt raw. 

That was not what Stiles had asked and Derek knew better than to leave prep minimal. Stiles had said he wanted Derek the way he’d been after they had gone out together (not on a date); wet, loose and ready to take everything given to him without complaint.

Derek fumbled around in the drawer, got the lube out. His dick twitched in anticipation. 

He turned the phone around to glare at the screen before getting his fingers covered in lube. Still no reply. He whined at the lack of notifications, so, so impatient. It would take Stiles at least fifteen minutes to drive from his dad’s house to Derek’s. That did not include the time he would use getting dressed, nor the time to park. If the jeep was acting up it would be even longer. The jeep had an annoying tendency to act up when it mattered most.

Since he had yet to answer, it meant Derek had more than enough time to prep himself. More than enough to fingerfuck himself to the brink of an orgasm again, and again, and again, to the thought of Stiles’ fucking him until he forgot his own name. 

Which meant it was way, way too early to get the lube into play if he wanted a shot at lasting.

He had his left hand loosely around his dick. He let his right roam down his body, softly touching down his chest, his abs. With his eyes closed he could almost imagine it being Stiles touching him. He’d done it enough. Derek knew exactly what it felt like, how Stiles’ long, clever fingers would make him shake in anticipation from the lightest of touch.

He ran his fingers over his nipples, just enough to raise them. Stiles wouldn’t pinch them just yet. He would keep his touch so very teasing, keep Derek on the edge, ready to beg for more. His dick was wet in his hand, leaking precum all over his stomach. Everything was warm, pulsing, and Derek was so, so ready.

Swallowing he moved his hand further down his body. He reached around his balls, pushing against the soft skin there with the pad of his finger, just like Stiles would. Agonizingly slow he allowed himself to reach further back. His body tensed as he teased his rim. 

Stiles would tell him he looked gorgeous. Derek let go of his dick, grabbed the lube. He wanted Stiles there, wanted dirty promises of what next whispered into his ear, against his throat. He wanted his fingers covered in cold lube, pushing against his hole, getting him ready to be fucked within an inch of his life. 

Fuck. 

He needed Stiles the way he needed air. 

His dick twitched as he pushed against his hole. The lube heated quickly as his body adjusted to his finger. 

“Please,” he whimpered into the empty room. 

Two weren't cutting it, barely stretching him. The slide was easy, slippery and scorching hot around his fingers. Stiles would tell him how well he did. He’d tell Derek how good he felt, how he couldn’t wait to be inside him while simultaneously dragging out the foreplay, until Derek was begging for more. And because that was what Stiles would do, Derek teased himself open, fingers slipping in and out with an obscene sound. It was wet, filthy and not at all what he needed.

His body was too quick to relax around the intrusion. Derek whimpered as he pushed in a third finger. The stretch was there for a moment, barely even burning. Not enough. Not filling him out the way Stiles’ dick would. He needed more. 

Derek whimpered softly, biting his lip. He was so hard his dick and balls were burning with the pressure, the need for release. 

Stiles hadn’t said anything about toys in his text.

Derek surely needed more than three fingers in his ass to be properly prepped. Stiles was hung after all. 

He needed more. 

He really did. 

Stiles had specifically asked for him to be wet and ready, and Derek was going to make damned sure he was exactly that. It was not because he craved to be filled prematurely. 

He moved to open the drawer with his lube-free hand, grabbing the blue dildo out of there. It wouldn’t be what he needed either, wouldn’t be quite enough to stretch him to the edge of where pain and pleasure blurred together into pure bliss. 

Maybe if he was a good boy, Stiles would let him fuck himself on the knotted, dark red one instead. Stiles would enjoy the show; would enjoy taking him afterwards even more, when Derek had come on the knot and was loose and pliable. 

Maybe he could suck Stiles off while fucking himself on the dildo, a big knot up his ass, filling him so good, while his mouth was filled in an entirely different way. Derek’s dick twitched in interest. He’d have to ask Stiles. Beg him.

He swallowed. He lathered the blue dildo with a generous amount of lube, watching the toy shine and glisten. He couldn’t wait to have that in his ass. 

It felt big against his hole, his body fighting the intrusion. Derek breathed in, out, forced himself to relax around the toy. He’d taken way bigger with way less prep before and loved every second of it. There was barely a burn as his body finally allowed him to push the dildo inside, stretching his rim. 

“Yes, fuck, yes,” he gasped as it grazed his prostate. It was exactly what he needed. 

He pushed down against the dildo, quickly realizing he wouldn’t get what he wanted lying on his back. He simply couldn’t move his wrist fast or hard enough. 

He clenched around the dildo before moving into a seated position, legs spread wide. His dick was red, angry, neglected between his legs. It was glistening with precum, head and shaft covered in sticky wetness that was rapidly cooling in the bedroom air.

Fuck, what if Stiles came over without any warning? Saw Derek sitting like that, spread out and ready for him, fucking himself on one of his toys? 

He knew what Stiles’ jeep sounded like; it was easy to imagine it rolling down the street as he let himself slide down onto the dildo. He could almost hear the familiar rumbling over the sound of other cars on the road. He could easily imagine how it sounded as Stiles drove it down the ramp, parked it in the basement, dropping his keys on the way out of the car. He was too busy getting to Derek, unable to coordinate both his hands and feet at the same time. 

Derek ground back down on the dildo, rocking back and forth with short, aborted motions. His hand was back around his dick, the only lubrication his own precum. He was trying very, very hard to be a good boy for Stiles and hold back.

He was panting into the empty bedroom. The firm mattress pushed back just enough to make it feel good as he rolled his hips, pushing the toy against his prostate.

Derek imagined Stiles on his knees, rummaging underneath the car for his keys, ass in the air. So fucking tempting, it was a good thing he was alone in the parking basement. He felt certain that Stiles would be hard too, leaking into his underwear. He’d be painfully aware that Derek was ready and wet and needed to be fucked and just a short ride with the elevator away. 

“Please Stiles, I need you,” Derek whimpered. He kept pushing himself down against the toy, clenching around it as he went down. He could imagine Stiles’ cursing at the keys, finally getting his hands on them. He would lock the car and bolt into the elevator, as desperate to get to Derek as Derek was for him to be there.

He bit his lips. Fuck. Stiles would have to hurry up if he wanted Derek to be good for him. He wasn’t cut out for waiting. Patience wasn’t his strong suit. 

Stiles would fiddle in the elevator, so incredibly tempted to touch himself as it slowly moved towards Derek’s loft. He was alone, he could do it, no one but Derek would be any wiser.

Derek whimpered, the dildo hitting just so. It was so, so good. He could come like that. Stiles wouldn’t let him. And he wanted to be good. 

He moved his hand up and down the shaft of his leaking erection. He was so close. Fuck. 

“I need!” he whimpered into the empty room, biting his lip. The pleasure was coming in waves, crashing over him, threatening to overflow. 

He wasn’t sure he could last. Maybe it was worth it. Stiles wouldn’t have to know that Derek had misbehaved. 

No. No. That wasn’t right. 

Derek was good. Derek was Stiles’ good boy. He could last. He could. He could. 

He got his hand off his dick, placed it onto his bed, fingers curling in the soft sheets. He used his arm strength as leverage as he slammed down against the bed, pushing the dildo further inside, riding it forcefully. Fuck, fuck, he was so close, he wanted Stiles, needed him so badly. 

Stiles was alone in the elevator, Derek imagined, because he needed to distract himself from how good getting fucked felt. Stiles wouldn’t be able to control himself for the entire ride up, instead palming himself through his jeans, just before he arrived at Derek’s loft. His hips moving, searching for friction as he imagined fucking into Derek’s wet heat. He would be as desperate as Derek when he arrived. Would fuck him within an inch of his life, until Derek’s head swam with the force of it, and he forgot his own name. 

He would know Derek had been a good boy. Such a good, good boy. 

Derek pushed himself faster, harder, impaling himself on the dildo with an inhuman desperation. Fuck. Stiles would need him too. Stiles would… Stiles would… 

Derek should’ve sent pictures. Maybe a movie as he touched himself let Stiles know exactly how much he was needed. A reminder of what was awaiting him.

Stiles would curse at the elevator for moving too slowly, still touching himself desperately. He would curse as he dropped his keys again just outside Derek’s apartment as he was about to unlock the door.

Derek could almost smell Stiles’ arousal, as if he really was on the other side of the door, fumbling, so impossibly turned on he could barely figure out how to slide the key into the keyhole and get his ass inside.

He wasn’t quiet in his pleasure, crying out in a haze of lust. He was so close to a release he wouldn’t, couldn’t, let himself have. 

He wanted to come on Stiles dick, not his most basic dildo. He wanted Stiles there, fucking into him, taking him apart until Derek was reduced to tears, begging for relief. 

He was so close. 

“Derek, fuck,” Stiles groaned. Derek had been so lost in his own fantasy he hadn’t heard the front door open, or Stiles step into his apartment. The scent of arousal had been so easy to imagine, he hadn’t realized it was real.

Derek whimpered in response. The need to be fucked was feverish, pulsing through him harder and faster. His erection was an angry red, his balls tight. He was so damned close it hurt. 

“Fuck, you look gorgeous.” 

“Yes,” Derek breathed out. Because he was Stiles’, and if Stiles said he was gorgeous, then that was true.

Now that Stiles was there, he would give Derek what he needed if Derek was a good boy. Derek was the best boy. He was. He could be so good for Stiles. He would make Stiles feel so good.

Stiles’ pupils were blown, his lower lip red from where he’d been biting it. Derek wanted to kiss him.

Derek whimpered, pushing back against the dildo again, not in the least embarrassed that Stiles saw him like that. He wasn’t sure he could stop even if he wanted to. 

Stiles was there. Derek needed him, needed him undressed and between his legs. Now. 

“I came as fast as I could,” Stiles told him, leaning into Derek’s space. Maybe he had said all that out loud. He wasn’t sure. 

His lips were soft against Derek’s, gentle. He kissed back, hungry, teeth clacking as Derek begged wordlessly for more, too desperate for soft and gentle.

“Turn around.” 

Derek turned. 

“You’ve done so good. So wet and ready for me.” 

There was the telltale sound of a belt unclasping, zipper opening. “I don’t think I’m gonna last very long. I’ll have to make that up to you later.” 

Derek didn’t care. He just wanted Stiles inside, he needed to be fucked so hard he forgot how to do anything but beg for more.

Stiles removed the dildo agonizingly slow. “I want to hear you.” 

Derek whimpered, suddenly self-conscious.

“You sound so beautiful when you moan on my dick. I want to hear that. I don’t want you to hold back.” It wasn’t a request, Derek realized. 

The dildo finally slipped out of him with a wet sound, leaving him empty and open and aching for more. It was almost painful, the need to be filled. He breathed out a soft “please”, ready for Stiles to use him as he wished. 

Stiles grabbed his hips, guided him to the edge of the bed.

Derek could feel the roughness of denim where his feet were brushing Stiles legs. He made a sound, trying to convey his unhappiness with the fact that Stiles was wearing clothes, while he was naked and dripping wet. 

Stiles ignored him, didn’t even give him any warning before lining his dick up against Derek’s hole and bottoming out in one swift movement.

Derek cried out in surprise, burning pleasure overtaking his entire body. The dildo hadn’t been enough prep. It burned. It burned and stretched, and Derek had never felt anything so good. 

He gasped for air, head buried in the mattress. Stiles allowed him less than a moment to adjust to the intrusion before fucking into him, not enough to fully adjust to his size. He knew Derek liked the burn, loved to feel as if he was being stretched in two on Stiles’ dick.. His entire body burned. If he had been close to coming on the dildo it was nothing compared to how he felt with a hot dick inside his ass.

“Stiles, Stiles, Stiles,” Derek moaned into the mattress. 

The grip on his hips were bruising, rough denim scratching against his thighs. It shouldn’t feel as hot as it did. It made him feel like he was a pretty thing Stiles kept around in as little clothes as he could, ready to be used whenever he felt like it. 

Oh fuck, he would be so down for that. 

Stiles fucked into him with force, hips slamming against his ass. Derek was unable to do anything but lie there and take it, let himself be used the way Stiles wanted to use him. He whimpered into the mattress, cried out when Stiles adjusted him, and everything lined up perfectly, making him see stars with every movement inside him.

Stiles gasped behind him. The smell of arousal was heavy in the air, heady, almost so thick Derek could taste it. Salty like Stiles’ cum flooding his mouth, like licking sweat-slick skin.

He canted backwards, meeting the thrusts, needing to be fucked so deep he would feel it for days. Everything was hazy around the edges. He moaned loud, no longer self conscious about the amount of sound he was making. It was so good. Stiles needed to know how good it was. 

The pleasure was building fast, painfully so. His body was tensing in preparation, and fuck, Derek needed it. He needed to come on Stiles’ dick. Had needed it for days. “Please,” he begged. “Can I come?” 

“Yes fuck, yes, come on my dick Derek.” 

Stiles slammed back into Derek, pain and pleasure erupting as Derek’s eyes rolled back into his head and he cried out. Derek was spurting hot cum all over himself, the mattress beneath him as he clenched around Stiles’ dick, milking him for all he was worth. 

Stiles fucked him through his orgasm, fucked him well into the realm of oversensitivity. Derek whimpered, as tears sprung to his eyes, his body on fire. 

The pain was bordering on pleasure, or pleasure bordering on pain, Derek didn’t know, it didn’t matter, he was crying, he was feeling better than he ever had before, the onslaught was too much. Everything in his universe centered around the dick in his ass, the sounds Stiles made behind him. His movements grew less coordinated as he neared his own climax. Derek could hear it in the way he panted for air, the soft moans, felt it in the stuttering of his hips.

With an aborted cry Stiles stilled behind him, emptying himself into Derek. He could feel Stiles’ pulse inside him, the warm sensation of cum painting his insides, leaking out around the dick buried balls deep inside him, running down his perineum, dripping down his thighs. 

 “Fuck,” Stiles gasped. “I really needed that.” 

Derek swallowed, tried to find his voice. He’d really needed that too. He was still half hard, almost ready for round two. It would just take a moment, if he could just get his breathing down under control, if he could just… It would take a while before Stiles was ready, he knew, but it was okay. Derek could fuck himself on the knotted dildo with him watching. 

Stiles guided them down on their sides, never pulling out. The sensation of him growing soft inside Derek intimate, despite Stiles still being fully clothed. The denim was rough against Derek’s thighs and calves, the tee soft and worn where Stiles was plastered against his damp back. 

“You’re such a good boy.” Soft kisses were pressed against his sweaty neck. Yes, Derek was. When Stiles said it, it was the truth. Otherwise he wouldn’t say it. 

“I’m gonna smell like you now, right? My clothes are gonna smell like you, and sex.” There was satisfaction in his voice. Derek hummed his agreement, unbelievably pleased by that. His breathing was slowing, evening out. 

Stiles ran his hands up and down Derek’s side. “When you’re ready, I have a surprise for you.” 

Derek hummed again. 

“It’s not more sex. I’m not superhuman like you.” 

Derek grumbled, because he really wanted more sex. Wanted the burning sensation between his thighs to last. For Stiles to fuck him and use him and… 

“I promise you’ll like it.” 

Derek grumbled again. He would like more sex too. One orgasm wasn’t enough. Not after so long of being denied to come.

“Sourwolf,” Stiles said, voice warm and affectionate. It made something inside Derek yearn and want. 

Stiles pressed another soft kiss to his back. “You need a shower.” 

“No,” he managed to say. He needed to smell like Stiles. His sheets didn’t need changing either. He wanted to smell what had happened on his bed for weeks, thank you very much.

“You stink.” 

Derek growled. He did as a matter of fact not. He smelled like Stiles, and himself, and sex. It had a good scent. There was no need to wash it off. 

“Sourwolf,” Stiles repeated, a grin in his voice, poking Derek's sensitive skin.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee snuck under the door as Derek lathered himself with soap. Because of course Stiles had convinced him of a shower, promising to fuck him senseless later. Derek would get plenty of time to smell like him, he had said. 

The scent of them fated with each movement, something he deeply regretted. If it wasn’t for the cold, sticky, crusty feeling of semen drying on his stomach and between his thighs, he wouldn’t have listened.

Derek washed himself as fast as he could, emerging from the bathroom with damp hair and a towel around his waist.

Stiles was sitting on the kitchen counter, hair mussed, a brown box on the opposite site of the table. The sun was filtering through the big windows, illuminating him, hair and eyes almost golden in the warm morning light. There was a smile playing around his lips, an appreciative movement as he took Derek in. 

Derek couldn’t help himself. 

He walked up to Stiles and kissed him softly, for a moment imagining that he woke up to that sight every morning. Stiles belonged in his kitchen as surely as he belonged in Derek’s bed. It had been hard to let him go Tuesday morning. It wouldn’t be any easier this time around. 

Derek kissed him again just because he could. It didn’t matter that the kisses were soft in a way he usually didn’t allow himself to be. They were just fuckbuddies. He knew that. Stiles would leave again soon, and he wasn’t attached to anything but the sex. The softness didn’t have to mean more than kissing being nice as well.

“There’s coffee in the press,” Stiles told him between kisses. 

As if coffee was more important than kissing Stiles. 

“You might not need coffee, but I do, big guy.” He was pushed away with a gentle hand. He grumbled, leaned in for another kiss and was rewarded with soft lips against his. 

They kissed until Stiles’ stomach started to make noises of protest, and only then Derek reluctantly pulled away. He poured them both a cup of steaming, liquid energy. 

Then he considered what he had, and found some fruit, cutting it out into bites and slices for a light breakfast. If he was about to get railed again soon, he didn’t want anything sitting to heavy in his stomach. 

He plated it up on two black plates, pushing one over the table to Stiles. 

Stiles grabbed an apple slice, waving it around as he started talking: “I was thinking… oh, don’t give me that look! I can think, you know!”

Derek smirked. 

“I was thinking that we could go to the factory. See if we can figure out some clues as to what happened to you? It’s not that I mind, like, look what we got out of it? but I would also feel a lot better knowing that whoever was capable of taking you out is dealt with and there isn’t a repeat when I’m not around to save your ass.” 

“Yeah.” The list of people capable was short. Even shorter when they considered the lack of evidence left behind. There hadn’t been a scent, not even in the parking basement where he’d been grabbed from. Derek had been down there, trying to catch a whiff of whoever it had been. Nothing. Nada. There’d been an unfamiliar heartbeat, boots against the asphalt, and then nothing until he woke on the concrete floor in the abandoned factory. 

“I mean, you’re all big and bad, and if someone is capable of taking you out, what about someone like me? Or Scott, or one of your betas? They aren’t as big and bad as you are.” 

Derek snorted, seating himself. He wasn’t as big and bad as Stiles made him seem, but his self-defense was miles ahead of both Scott’s and his betas, simply because he had had more years as a werewolf compared to them and had used those on honing his abilities. 

He moved until he found a comfortable position, enjoying the soreness that came from a good, slightly underprepared fuck. His healing had already kicked in, it wouldn’t last long. He should have focused more on not allowing his body to heal. 

Stiles gestured, knocking over the cup in front of him. Derek reached out, pushing the cup back up, glad that he had only filled it halfway and barely any coffee was lost thanks to his reflexes and forethought. He was about to get up to get a dishcloth to clean when Stiles opened his mouth:

“So, that was my thought. To go see if we can find some clues. And! Your surprise! Remember I talked about the vibrating butt plug last time we fucked? I paid for expedited shipping! So it arrived last night, kinda late, actually, did you know that they bring out packages after eight PM? I didn’t, but I am glad they do. It was a good thing Dad wasn’t home, because oh my god, Derek, could you imagine having to explain to him what that package was?” 

Derek’s mouth went dry, all thoughts about cleaning the spilled coffee abandoned. 

“It’s remote controlled! Fuck, and so powerful! I bet I can make you come in moments! Have you ever had a vibrator before?” 

He shook his head. He hadn’t. He had wanted, oh god, he had wanted. It had seemed too indulgent, somehow. The sex toys he had bought had been cheap, good deals online, and he’d been able to justify that to himself. For some reason a vibrator had seemed like too much. He could afford it, it wasn’t about the money. But like so many other things, it wasn’t strictly necessary and Derek wasn’t very good at self indulging. 

“It will be great. It even has an app, so when I go back I can still control it.” Hesitation, an awkward shuffle. “If that’s something you want, that is.” 

Derek swallowed. He had managed, just for a moment, to forget that Stiles was in Beacon Hills temporarily and that he would eventually fuck off to wherever he was these days. He knew it had something to do with his job, knew Stiles had to move around a lot. 

He lowkey hated Stiles’ job for that reason.

“Yeah,” he replied. “That would be… that would be something I’d like a lot.” There, he’d done it, right? Used his words to communicate at least part of what he wanted. 

He couldn’t ask Stiles to stay in Beacon Hills, couldn’t ask him to stay there with him. He could do a vibrator, he could do the long distance fuckbuddy thing, right? 

Stiles smelled like relief, a big smile spreading across his face, lighting up his eyes. “Great! Yeah, I hoped you would, but I’d also understand if not. I figure we can hash out how to do things long distance.” 

Derek nodded, vocal cords tight. 

Stiles placed his coffee cup down on the table. “I took a sneak peek yesterday. I think it needs proper charging, though. Hand me the box, will you?” 

Derek gave him the box as requested. It was surprisingly heavy. 

Stiles opened the box and grabbed the manual, reading it over with furrowed brow. “Yeah. It needs a least four hours before first use. Damn, should’ve read that last night, then I could’ve plugged it in and used it on you right away.” 

Derek spluttered, coughed, trying to clear his airway.

“Are you okay?” 

He nodded and kept coughing. Coffee and lungs, not great. 

Hadn’t they just planned to go to the abandoned factory and check out that place? Would Stiles want him to investigate with a vibrating butt plug up his ass? How was he supposed to focus on anything if that was the case? 

“Don’t look at me like that! I wouldn’t turn it on before we were done in there,” Stiles said, as if that would make it better.

What if Derek needed to fight? Or even worse, shift ? He had no idea how it would work with a butt plug if he turned full wolf, and he had no intentions about finding out, thank you very much. 

“Charger, cable.” 

Stiles handed him said things. 

“And remote control – oh, those are just standard batteries, awesome.” 

The remote was black, sleek, and small. Derek could see it hide away in a pocket no problem. No one would have to know what was going on. Except him, because he would have a big, vibrating butt plug up his ass.  

And finally, the icing on the cake, the most important part. 

“Fuck, how big is that exactly?” he gasped.

The butt plug was bigger than any of the toys in his bedside drawer, base wide to make sure it wouldn’t slip inside. How was he supposed to walk with that in him? The way Stiles had talked about it, Derek had assumed he could wear it outside the apartment too. Everyone would know what was going on if he walked around with that in his ass. 

There was no way he would be able to pull it off. No way he would be able to walk like normal with that thing in. 

Stiles raised a brow, smiling. “Derek, when I’ve fucked you, it won’t be a problem to make this fit. You’ll be so loose and slick it will slip right in.” 

Derek’s dick twitched in interest, his breath coming short. Okay, yes, he wanted that. Wanted to be fucked so thoroughly even a butt plug that size wouldn’t be a problem for him to take. 

Placing the butt plug on the counter, big and black, Stiles leaned over. “I know you can take it. I know you want it. I’ll take good care of you, there’s no need to worry.” 

“Okay,” he whispered hoarsely.

Stiles leaned over the table and kissed him gently. “That’s my good boy. Now, put in the charger. Then we can get going and leave it to charge so we play with it when we get back home.” 

Derek got up, took the charger, cable and buttplug and did as he was told, placing the butt plug inside the bedroom to charge. He watched it for a moment, standing proud and black on the table beside his bed, a light blinking from within it to indicate that it had yet to finish charging. 

It would be inside him in a few hours. Fuck. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to imagine that. His dick was very, very interested. It would be hard to focus on finding clues in the factory, even without it filling him out. 

Derek returned to the kitchen only to find Stiles sitting on the counter, cross legged, slurping a second cup of coffee, a thoughtful look on his face. 

It wasn’t really a surprise when he started rambling off theories on who had abducted Derek instead of talking about how he would use the plug, but it was disappointing nevertheless. Derek would much, much rather talk about sex.

Apparently, the theory of aliens had yet to leave the table, though it was ranging below the following: 

• A group of alphas, envious of Derek.
• A group of witches, or maybe vampires, that Derek had pissed off without knowing (Stiles found this a lot more plausible than Derek did, which, was he really that unlikeable to other people?).
• Maybe someone human, though unlikely. Humans didn’t tend to be aware of their scent.
• Someone related to Kate, not Allison. Maybe someone Kate was dating? 

Derek tried to argue back that he likely would have smelled both alphas and witches, unless they took extreme care towards hiding their scent. Witches made him sneeze. He wasn’t allergic, but magic made his nose tingle, the same way wolfsbane did. He hadn’t encountered enough vampires to be sure what they smelled like, but why would vampires want to take him to an abandoned factory, naked and covered in duct tape? That required some serious pissing of, and Derek had been behaving lately. 

He couldn’t entirely rule out someone related to Kate, but if that was the case, it would have to be a hunter. Otherwise they wouldn’t have known to wrap him in wolfsbane as well, and if it was a hunter, would they really have bothered with the whole naked and duct tape thing, when shooting him with a wolfsbane bullet would be so much more effective? 

The thing was, nothing made sense. Nothing about the abduction or the way he’d been bound and found made sense. 

“I just, Derek, my ideas are solid,” Stiles argued, even though his ideas were less solid than water.  

Derek glared at him. How the hell Stiles had gotten a job with the FBI with those reasoning skills was beyond him. 

“Okay, fine, maybe my ideas right this very moment are a bit lacking because I need evidence to string everything together. But! But! We are gonna go, right now, and then we’re gonna find that evidence, and then I can make proper theories and prove that I actually know what the hell I’m talking about.” 

“Okay,” Derek said, rolling his eyes.

Stiles shuffled off the counter with all the elegance of a newborn foal. It was long legs flailing, nearly toppling onto the floor and almost taking Derek’s French press down with him. It would’ve been funny if it didn’t remind Derek exactly how much he could be in control of his body when he wanted to. There’d been nothing clumsy about Stiles fucking into him. 

Sex-machine Stiles and normal Stiles were like to different people in terms of coordination and body control. The hyperfocus was the same, interestingly enough. The way he could look at Derek and make him feel like he was the only person in the room was the same. 

“Come on big guy!”

Stiles dragged him into the bedroom, allowed him get dressed in more than the soft towel around his hips, though he looked entirely unhappy about the prospect of Derek covering up his legs. 

“I need to get you some shorts. Very short shorts. Booty shorts, preferably.” 

Derek snorted. There was no way in hell he was going to wear very short shorts in public. 

Stiles grabbed the lube from his bedside table, pocketing it. “You never know what happens!” he said to Derek’s raised eyebrows. 

“I very much doubt we are going to encounter something you can solve with lube, Stiles.” 

“Excessive horniness? You, driving, sorta do that to me.” 

He opened and closed his mouth in an inelegant imitation of a fish out of water. “Since when?” he demanded. It sounded almost like actual words. He was rather proud that he managed that. 

“Well, it’s become worse, you know, since Monday. But pretty much since always?” Stiles shrugged. “You look so focused when you drive. And your hands, oh my god, I could write poems about what your hands look like when they grab the steering wheel or the gear stick. I mean, damn.” 

Okay, he had never ever guessed that. Stiles had done pretty damn well at hiding that particular fetish. It was too bad, otherwise they might’ve ended up fucking way earlier.

Derek dragged his pants over his hips, a t-shirt over his head, and once he was dressed in something properly and way too covering for Stiles’ taste, he was dragged out of the loft, into the elevator.

Stiles was a warm distraction against his side. He smelled so much like them, like sex, having refused a shower while he forced Derek to have one. Stiles didn’t initiate anything on the way down, nor in the parking basement even though it was entirely deserted. 

Derek unlocked the Camaro, slipping behind the wheel as Stiles sat down on the passenger side. Once inside the car Derek was practically vibrating to get Stiles’ hands on him, but again, nothing happened. 

He wasn’t whining, yet Stiles turned his head with a tight smile. “Believe me Derek, it’s as hard for me as it is for you. But if I touch you, I don’t think I can stop, and then we’re never gonna figure things out.” 

Okay, that was fair. If it was that important to figure things out, shouldn’t they have gone Tuesday while everything was still fresh? Not wait two full days? To be fair he’d slept most of Tuesday away, worn out from Monday, but they could’ve gone out Wednesday, then, to look for clues.

Derek made a sound and put the car in reverse. They drove in silence towards the abandoned factory, only broken by Stiles reminding him of the way. 

It was torture. 

The car smelled like Stiles and sex and Derek, a solid reminder that he would never be able to get behind the wheel again without feeling long, slender hands on his body. 

Stiles was behaving like he was entirely unaffected on the ride towards the factory, chatting away about how his dad was doing, asking about Derek’s betas, about the weather, talking about his jobs with the FBI even though the latter was vague and mostly stories about his coworker’s private lives. Derek supposed he couldn’t tell much more than that.

Derek parked, the tires screeching on the gravel as dust whirled around the car. 

A soft hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get it over with. I know it can’t be fun for you.” 

He wasn’t sure what Stiles referred to. The lack of touch or being back to a place where he’d been held captive? It wasn’t the first time someone had knocked him about and tied him down. It was fine. Derek had had way worse. It had been the first time something good had come out of it, though. 

He grumbled something under his breath, not sure what to say. He pushed open the car door and swung his legs out. 

Derek took a deep breath in of the slightly dusty, but otherwise clean air outside, trying to clear his brain for thoughts of sex and get back on track on solving the mystery of his duct tape covered abduction. 

He could smell the distinct scent of warm motor, gasoline, and dust from the gravel. Him and Stiles. The scent of Scott was barely there, only recognizable because he knew it had to be clinging to the door where he’d thrown himself against it. 

Tuesday or Wednesday would most certainly have been better days to investigate if they were to rely on his nose to pick up any clues.

Stepping towards the door he took another breath in. The smell of Scott was a lot stronger there. He couldn’t smell anyone else but Stiles and Scott on the door, though. Not that he thought there was anything left behind, if his kidnappers had smelled like something, he would have picked up on it on Monday.  

Stiles, smartly, kept by the car so he didn’t disturb the scent tracks more than necessary. Derek could hear his rabbit-fast heartbeat, the shift of gravel as he moved from the passenger’s side to the driver’s side, unable to stand still and wait. 

There was no sign of anyone inside the factory, living, dead or undead. No shuffling around, no breathing, no heartbeats. No smell of magic, only the scent of wolfsbane, weak, likely from the thread they’d left there. 

Derek turned around, facing the car. “I think we are alone,” he told Stiles. 

Stiles hummed in response, moving closer. 

Derek kept in front as he opened the door to the factory. It was potentially a bad plan, seeing as his abductor knew he was a werewolf. He’d rather be hurt than see Stiles hurt. Unless it was a wolfsbane bullet straight to the heart or head, he would heal fast. Stiles wouldn’t. 

Nothing happened. All in all it was rather anticlimactic to push open the heavy door to absolutely nothing but an empty, abandoned oversized room with concrete floors.

Nothing was a good thing, he told himself. Then his abductor hadn’t been back to place traps or shit like that. If they hadn’t been back, the chance of useful clues fell even further.

He sighed, looking around the place. It looked much like he remembered it. High windows, dusty and dirty. A concrete floor covered in grime. 

“Anything?” Stiles asked, voice low. 

Derek shook his head. 

There was the faint smell of them and Scott. The wolfsbane. Dust, grime. Old, wet tree. Rust. Mold. A bit of dried blood, his own. 

They took a walk around the factory. 

Nothing. 

It was a solid failure, a total waste of time. There was nothing remarkable or interesting about it. The wolfsbane was a common sort, easy to track down for someone who knew what they were doing. Which meant every supernatural being and or hunters where technically still on the table. 

“It was worth a try,” Stiles told him, petting his arm absently as he studied the thread of wolfsbane on the floor. “I mean, I hadn’t expected to get much out of it, because any obvious clues we’d have picked up Monday. It was worth a try.” 

Derek grumbled. He all too well remembered the humiliation of having Scott carry him out of the factory like a duct tape covered damsel in distress. 

“Oh come on sour-wolf.” There was teasing in Stiles’ voice now. “Some of that day was okay, wasn’t it?” 

Derek turned his head, looking Stiles dead in the eye. “It was the best sex of my life.” 

Stiles spluttered, flustered, moved backwards half a step.

“You told me you would ruin me for everyone else, and you did,” Derek continued in a moment of total honesty. About eighty five percent of his annoyance was the knowledge that if he had not been abducted, he wouldn’t have had sex with Stiles. In some fucked up way it was like it meant he owed his abductor something.

Watching Stiles was a transformation. His shoulders squared, his smile grew, confidence shined through in the way he showed his teeth. He was breathtaking. Beautiful. Even in the grimm abandoned factory Derek would’ve really preferred never getting back into. 

“This trip doesn’t have to be a total waste,” Stiles said. Derek knew that tone. They’d slept together twice, and Derek was already so fucking conditioned that his dick twitched at the shift in Stiles’ voice. 

He was screwed. 

Ruined. 

Stiles moved closer. Derek’s breath hitched in his throat. 

“Remember what we talked about last time?” Stiles asked. 

The midmorning light filtering through the dirty windows made him look warm, golden, inviting. Moles speckled against white skin, inviting, asking to be touched, worshiped. 

“About how I’d fuck you in your car?” 

Yes, Derek remembered that very well. He especially recalled how upsetting it had been when it hadn’t happened. 

“Would you still like that?” 

What could he do but nod? He’d wanted that since Stiles first suggested it. There was something incredibly hot about fucking where someone could find them, even if the likelihood that someone came by was somewhere between low and pretty much non-existent. 

Stiles placed a warm hand on Derek’s chest, running it down his abs. “Your car is gonna smell like us.” 

“Yes,” Derek breathed. 

“Since you’ve already gotten one orgasm today, I’m not sure you should be allowed another one. It would be terribly annoying to clean come out of the seats, wouldn’t it?” 

There was a soft hand against his jaw, a thumb over his lips. Derek whimpered, closing his eyes. It was leather seats. It wouldn’t be a bother, but he knew that wasn’t what Stiles wanted to hear, so he didn’t say anything. 

“Holding back won’t be a problem for my good boy, will it?” 

Derek had gone so hard it was painful, and Stiles had barely even touched him. He wanted to be good, oh, he wanted to be the best for Stiles. He wasn’t sure he could hold back. Though deserted, the factory was very much a public place. Someone could come by, see them. See Stiles buried inside of him, fucking his brain out. 

“What if I can’t?” he asked. 

“Are you really that desperate?” 

As if that wasn’t obvious from the way his pants tented around his groin. 

“Hm, I guess we’ll have to see,” Stiles said, not bothering to wait for Derek’s reply. “I had thought you’d prefer to come when we were back home, on your new toy, your dick in my mouth.”  

Okay, okay. Yes. He would like that a lot. 

“I know you can be good, Derek. I know you can. I’ll be gentle with you, won’t make it too hard, because fuck, I’ve fantasized about seeing you filled with that toy since I put my order in. I’ve masturbated a lot, let me tell you. It has been impossible to focus on anything else.” 

Stiles palmed his dick through his pants. Derek gasped. “It will be a good fuck, though. I’ll bend you over the backseat, or maybe the hood? Haven’t made up my mind yet. You won’t need much prep, will you?” 

Derek shook his head. 

“Let’s get out, then.” 

Derek walked awkwardly, erection straining against his pants with each step. Stiles looked entirely unaffected, and if it wasn’t for the heavy scent of arousal surrounding him, Derek would’ve assumed he was.

The gravel crunched underneath his feet, the air was cool against his rapidly overheating skin. 

Stiles crowded him against the car, kissing him senseless. Derek whimpered against his mouth, unable to move anywhere. 

“I need you to listen. Tell me if anyone gets near.” 

“Yes.” Derek could try at least.

Stiles pushed his hips against Derek’s, erections brushing through denim. Derek wanted more, he wanted skin on skin, wanted to feel Stiles, taste him, touch him. 

“I want you on the backseat, on your knees. I want the car smelling like us once we’re done. I want everyone who gets into the car to know what happened. I want them to know I got to bend you over and fuck you,” Stiles told him, and Derek fucking loved it when he was told what was going to happen.

Stiles rolled his hips against Dereks, and out went all rational thoughts.

Derek moaned, low in his throat, barring his neck in submission. 

Taking advantage of that, Stiles licked, kissed his way down Derek's neck. Derek whimpered at teeth scraping against his sensitive skin. Stiles gently bit down, and Derek all but came in his pants. Fuck, how had he never known how sensitive his neck was? 

“Oh, like that, do we?” Stiles asked unnecessarily before continuing to turn Derek into a horny, whimpering mess. 

Stiles rolled his hips again, and again, and again, setting up a maddening rhythm against Derek. Warm lips underneath his ear, gently sucking on his earlobe had Derek so close to begging for relief.

Stiles backed down. His cheeks were flushed, lips spit slick. He looked like he’d been fucked. Like Derek was ruining him right back. 

“Derek, Derek. You don’t get to come now, I told you that just moments ago. You’re a big boy, you’ve got better control than this. Coming in your pants like a teenager? You can be good for me, because you know I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk straight. I’ll keep you hard and wanting the entire ride home, I’ll make it impossible to sit without the reminder that I just fucked you in your own car. I won’t come in you, not yet, but I’ll make you wish I had. You’ll itch for the feeling of my come leaking out of you.” 

It sounded like a threat and promise and Derek was loving it. Then Stiles lined up their hips again, lowering his voice, while rubbing against Derek. 

“Oh I know how much you love this. I like having you underneath me, all wet and desperate and ready. We will make home, and I am gonna fuck you again. Over the kitchen counter, this time. I’m gonna fuck you until you beg me for release, until you cry for it. It will be so good. You’ll be so good for me, just taking what I give you. You look so beautiful when you cry for me, so fucking gorgeous.” 

Derek was close to crying already, fuck. Stiles was moving his hips just so, enough pressure to drive Derek mad, make him want. His underwear was wet with precum already, sticking to the head of his dick. 

“I still wouldn’t allow you to come, but fuck, I would want to. Do you have any idea what you look like when you come? It’s addicting. I would want to savor that orgasm, let you have it on your new toy, just like I promised you. So I would fuck you until I came, filling you up, making you smell like me, and then I’d plug you up, use my own come as lube.” 

Derek groaned, hips moving on their own accord. The pressure was building fast, making his head spin. Stiles’s words weren't helping anything, the knowledge that if he kept himself from coming he would have that. 

Stiles kept crowding him against the car, moaning against Derek’s neck. He dry humped Stiles, rubbed himself against him, seeking pressure, friction, anything that could take him closer to the orgasm he needed so badly his body hurt.

How he managed to stop his movements he had no idea. One moment he was chasing an orgasm rubbing himself against Stiles, the next he stood still, panting, tears stinging. 

“Please fuck me.” It was a horrible idea. There was no way he was going to last once Stiles was in him. Maybe it would be okay if he came untouched? Maybe Stiles would still take him over the kitchen counter, let him play with the new toy.

He gasped as Stiles ran his hand down his side. “When you ask so nicely.” 

Derek let himself be manhandled into turning around, ass flush against Stiles’ groin. 

“Open the door for me.” 

Derek did.

Warm hands moved from gripping his hips to prying open the button of his jeans, unzipping him. He looked down, the wet spot of precum noticeably staining the front of his boxers. 

“Arms on the seats, yeah, just like that. Fuck, your ass, damn.” 

If he pushed his hips up just a bit further to give Stiles a better view, who would judge him? 

His boxers were pulled down along with his jeans, pooling around his feet in the gravel. 

He keened as soft lips were pressed against the small of his back, moving their way down his ass. Stiles took his sweet time, kissing, nipping, alternating between pain and sweet touches until Derek was reduced to a whimpering mess.

He wanted Stiles’ mouth on his ass, to be opened by his tongue and fucked so throughougly he saw stars. Instead of begging, he moaned. Stiles would give him what he wanted, nothing more. 

Finally Stiles withdrew from his teasing touches. Derek could hear the telltale click of the lube being opened, squirting onto Stiles’ hand. 

“Fuck, you look so gorgeous like this.” 

“Stiles,” Derek whimpered. Stiles pressed his lube-covered fingers against Derek’s hole, not caring that the lube was cold against his sensitive skin. 

Derek forced himself to relax against Stiles’ fingers, allowed him inside. 

“Look how loose and ready you are. Is that just from earlier? I don’t even need to plug you up to have you ready, do I? You want me that bad, huh?”

“Yes.” 

“Do you even need prep?” It was a rhetorical question. At this point he didn’t, they both knew that. Stiles fingered him open anyway, even though Derek begged him to fuck him. He didn’t need much prep, he’d heal, he wanted the burn, the pain. Wanted to feel Stiles for days after, wanted to feel him as he sat down to drive them home. 

Stiles kept a merciless pace, nailing Derek’s prostate with each movement of his fingers. Lube was dripping down his thighs, making him feel wet and dirty.

It took embarrassingly short before Derek was crying for mercy, for an orgasm, for anything but the constant onslaught of Stiles’ fingers. 

When Stiles withdrew it was worse. Derek felt so empty it was painful. Tears were stinging in his eyes where he was pressing them against his forearms, ass in the air for Stiles to take. 

Finally Stiles lined himself up, pushing into Derek. The pace he set was gruelling, fucking into Derek like there was no tomorrow. 

It was so good. It was too much. He needed to come so badly, body clenching around Stiles, pleasure building so fast his head swam with it. Tears were leaking out his eyes, wetting the surface of his leather jacket. 

He barely registered it when he tumbled over the edge, clenching around Stiles as he cried through his orgasm. 

Stiles hips stilled behind him. Warm cum soaked into his t-shirt, splattered across the seat underneath him. 

Fuck. 

Derek whimpered, uncertain, and so fucking high from his orgasm. Everything was hazy, unfocused as Stiles drew out of him, turned him around so they were face to face. 

He would’ve fallen if not for the strong hands on his hips, the knees pushing against his, forcing his legs not to bugle. 

“You really made a mess of yourself, huh?” he said, looking at Derek’s t-shirt. 

His throat felt thick. “I didn’t mean to.” Oh fuck, his voice was quivering, low lip wobbling. He really hadn’t meant to. “I’m sorry.” 

Stiles sighed, moving his right hand from Derek’s hip to his face. It took a moment before Derek realized that he was drying away tears that wouldn’t fucking stop. 

“Sorry,” he repeated. He didn’t feel like a good boy. Stiles had asked one thing of him, and he had fucked up. That wasn’t what good boys did. 

“Oh Derek,” Stiles said, voice gentle, like Derek was fragile and about to break. “I’m not mad.” 

Derek wasn’t sure what to do with that. He felt like crying, except he already was and didn’t seem to be able to stop. And why? Stiles wasn’t mad, he had just had a mindblowing orgasm, and he was standing in the middle of nowhere, covered in come and with his ass on display. 

He was being ridicolous. There was nothing to cry about. Except the part where Stiles had told him he couldn’t, and Derek desperately wanted to be a good boy for Stiles and hadn’t been. 

Clearly not giving a shit about the cooling cum on Derek’s t-shirt, Stiles drew him in for a hug, holding him close until Derek’s breathing evened out. 

“I’m not mad Derek,” Stiles repeated, chest rumbling with each word. 

Derek didn’t reply, but let his head fall to his bony shoulder, breathing in deeply. 

Stiles held on for a moment longer, letting Derek inhale his scent, listening to his heartbeat until his own breathing evened out. 

Only then did Stiles let go, to look Derek in the eye, amber eyes serious. “I’m not mad,” he repeated, like saying it a third time would make it sink in.

Derek felt so stupid, standing there with his pants around his feet, cum-stained t-shirt, crying like a child. 

Stiles pinched his lips and tucked himself in, before kneeling to get Derek’s boxers and pants back up. His movements were gentle, precise as he got Derek back to a semi-presentable state.

Derek didn’t feel like he deserved the care Stiles was showing him. 

“Stop thinking.” 

That was easier said than done. At least he hadn’t been asked to stop crying. 

Stiles sighed softly. “Would it be easier if I told you there’s consequences for coming without permission?” 

He contemplated that for a moment, before nodding stiffly. It would be. He knew he’d fucked up, knew he’d disappointed Stiles. There was agreement between them; Stiles was in control of his orgasms, Derek wasn’t, and he should’ve kept himself under control. Or told Stiles he couldn’t hold back. 

Stiles was still in his space, hands on Derek’s hips, keeping him there. The touch was firm, grounding. 

“You are going to breathe with me for a moment. Then we’re gonna drive back home when you’re ready. Then we’re gonna go into your apartment. I’ll use you, and you won’t get to come. We’re gonna test out that new vibrator, because fuck, I wanna come down your throat while you’re fucking yourself on that. I’ll fuck your face until I come, and then, I’m going to take a nap –“ 

Derek groaned in protest. 

“I’m going to take a nap,” Stiles continued, petting Derek’s hip, “while you test out that vibrator. Find out what settings you like the best, how to fuck yourself on it. Without coming. You can turn it off, but only if you get close. If you are good I’ll allow you to come after I’ve napped. Having to wait while I sleep is your consequence, understood?” 

Derek closed his eyes, swallowed heavily. Stiles fingers played with the hem of his shirt, sneaking underneath, caressing the skin beneath. 

“Do you think you can do that for me Derek?” 

“Yes,” he rasped. 

“That’s my good boy,” Stiles said with a smile playing around his lips. “Okay, try to match my breathing as best as you can.” 

Then he took a deep breath in, and out, and in, and out. Derek allowed himself to solely focus on the sound of that, eyes on Stiles’ kiss slick lips as he did his best to match even breathing, until his no longer hitched at the top of his lungs, until he no longer felt tears running down his face without permission.

“Good, so good,” Stiles murmured. “Feeling better?” 

Derek nodded. 

Stiles moved his hand, grabbing Derek’s chin, angling his head just so. His lips were soft against Derek’s, the kisses gentle and unhurried. The way you kissed a lover, not a fuckbuddy, Derek’s unhelpful brain supplied. He knew what they were. It was fine. He wanted Stiles in any capacity he could get him. 

“Ready to get back home?” 

Derek made an affirmative noise, Stiles stepped back, leaving him cold where they’d been touching. It felt so right, the way they fit together. He blinked. Where was that coming from? 

“Ready to drive?” 

He nodded. He’d driven in way worse states than post orgasmic haze. Granted, orgasms rarely made him cry like that, but, well, he had driven in way worse states anyway. 

“Good boy.” 

Coming from everyone else, Derek suspected it would’ve sounded degrading. Or like a bad dog joke. But Stiles was so sincere, smiling at Derek with pride in his voice and eyes. He was beautiful, and it took everything Derek had not to lean into his space and kiss him senseless. 

“I think we need to clean the backseat too.”

Derek made a sound of acknowledgement. There was semen splattered over the leather. He sent a silent thanks to whatever had possessed him to pay for leather seats instead of fabric. Leather was way easier to clean, and considering the amount of bodily fluids the seats had seen over the years, it had been a good investment. There was a limit to how much he wanted to pay to make car cleaners shut up about how often he came in to have gore cleaned out of his car. 

The drive home was uneventful. Stiles was unusually quiet beside him, looking at him as if he was trying to understand something.

It was unnerving. 

He parked the car in its usual spot and got out. Stiles scrambled after him, catching up at the elevator. “Are you going to clean the car now or later?” he asked. 

Derek contemplated. “Now.” Judging from the state of his tee, the stain on the backseat was likely already dry. The longer he waited, the more difficult it likely would be to get it off. 

He looked at the numbers going down until the elevator opened in front of them. Stiles placed a hand on the small of his back as they stepped through. It felt hot even through the leather jacket. 

The hand snuck around, down the front of his jeans as Stiles stepped closer. He grabbed Derek’s fast hardening dick through his boxers, pumping it slowly, lips against his neck. “You’re already hard for me, huh?” 

Derek groaned low in his throat. He was, he really, really was. 

“You know, I think I’d like you to wait with that car cleaning.” Stiles pressed his groin against Derek’s ass. “After all, I never got to come, and fuck, I want to. I want you to choke on my dick, I want you to be so hard you can’t think straight.” 

That wouldn’t take a lot. Derek threw his head back, moaning as Stiles rubbed him through his boxers. He pushed his hips forward, seeking more pressure, more friction. He was leaking into his underwear, precum soaking the fabric, slicking the way. 

“You get so wet for me. It’s so fucking hot,” Stiles breathed, rutting against Derek’s ass. 

The elevator stopped. Stiles withdrew faster than Derek registered what was happening. He bit back the whimper of protest as he realized that it hadn’t stopped at his floor. 

He kept his back turned, unable to adjust his erection in a discreet manner. It tented his pants proudly, and considering his come-stained t-shirt, well, it was better not to face anyone, especially people he potentially had to face at some point.

Judging by the overwhelming, flowery scent, it was a woman who had joined them. She rode with them two floors before getting out. 

The elevator doors barely closed before Stiles attacked him again, turning him around, slotting their jeans-covered dicks against each other and rutting against him. “Fuck Derek, I need you, I need you so bad.” 

Derek let him kiss and bite his neck, whimpering, unable to do anything but stand there and let Stiles take what he wanted. 

They made it to his floor without incident. He adjusted himself, zipped up his jacket to hide the come stains. It was uncomfortable to walk to his door with his erection straining against his jeans. Stiles walked equally awkward beside him, smelling so good Derek’s mouth was watering. 

He got the door unlocked. It barely closed behind them before Stiles ordered him to ‘get into the bedroom and strip’. Derek scrambled to obey. 

He wasn’t sure how Stiles wanted him, so he stripped and sat down on the bed, listening to Stiles walking around in the kitchen. He was so hard it hurt, his dick glistening, throbbing, red. He wanted to touch himself, wanted to come again. Fucking werewolf refractory period. 

Stiles took his sweet time with whatever the fuck he was doing. Derek moved further back on the back, closing his eyes, imagining what Stiles was doing. Maybe he was taking himself in hand, getting himself even harder and desperate for Derek?

There was a soft humming sound beside him. Oh, he was testing the vibratorapp, seeing if it was working as it should. Derek wanted that, wanted what Stiles had promised him. It hadn’t sounded like a punishment when Stiles had presented the idea, but he knew better than to think it would be easy to hold back. 

His dick twitched, he moved again, uncomfortably hard and ready. 

Stiles finally stepped into the bedroom, phone in hand, the vibrator still humming on the bedside table, a wicked smile playing around his lips. “Oh Derek, I think this was a great investment.” 

Stiles stopped the vibrator and took it in his hand. Seeing how Stiles’ long fingers struggled to close around the widest part of it, Derek shuddered. 

“Lie back,” Stiles ordered. “It’ll take a moment to get you ready to take this.” 

Swallowing, Derek did exactly that. 

He was still wet from Stiles fucking him in the car, still loose and ready. The vibrator was big, and well, Stiles really did enjoy him squirming on his fingers.  “I want you so wet you’re soaking the sheets,” he said. 

Derek whimpered, spreading his legs willingly to give Stiles access. He closed his eyes as lube-covered fingers entered him. His hips bucked off the bed as Stiles curled his fingers just so, reaching that point that made Derek see stars. 

Two fingers became three as he was spread open. Lube was running down the cleft of his ass, soaking into the bedsheet beneath him. 

“You look so beautiful like this.” 

Derek covered his face with an arm, trying to hide away. 

“Look at me, Derek.” 

Fuck. 

He moved his arm. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the light. Stiles was leaning over him, fingers moving in and out Derek’s ass with wet noises. It was obscene. It shouldn’t look as hot as it did, but Derek got to see how the muscles moved underneath his skin, the hunger in his eyes.

“You are so gorgeous, I could come just from watching you like this. Have you ever thought about fucking in front of a mirror? No? We’re going to do that. I want you to see what you look like when I finger you open, when I lick into you, when I fuck you. I want you to know exactly how beautifully you blush, how good you look when you’re spread open for me.” 

Derek cried out as Stiles pushed into him again, nailing his prostate again and again. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chanted. 

“I bet that would make it really hard for you to hold back, wouldn’t it? To see yourself like that? To see how much I enjoy fucking you?” 

Derek realized that Stiles would do his best to make it very, very difficult not to come again. His fingers moved relentlessly inside Derek, hitting just right with each movement in and out, making his vision blank out and his toes curl as he moaned like a porn star going for the money shot. 

Stiles finally withdrew his fingers, leaving Derek empty and heaving for air. He covered the vibrator liberally in lube, pushing the cold head of the cold silicone against his hole. It went on smoothly, at first. The toy grew wider before tapering in just above the wide base. 

“Let me know if you need a moment to adjust.” 

Derek nodded, gasping against the intrusion, the burn. It felt so good his head swam with it. 

Stiles stopped, Derek whimpered his protests. He needed it. Why did Stiles stop? A moment passed, then another before the toy was pushed inside him again, agonizingly slow, allowing his body time to adjust. The base pressed against his ass. 

“Fuck, you took that so well,” Stiles gasped. There was a soft sound of skin against fabric. 

Derek opened his eyes. Stiles was rubbing himself outside his jeans, face flushed, chest heaving. 

“Sit up.” 

It made the toy move inside him, a very solid reminder of what his body was capable of taking. It was filling him up in ways he’d never imagined he could be filled. Derek moaned, slowly rising on his elbows until he was fully seated on his ass. It pushed the toy further inside, the thickness of it stretching him impossibly wide. 

“Oh Derek,” Stiles whimpered. “I’m gonna need a moment. I’ll get a glass of water, and then I’ll be back, okay?” 

Derek nodded, too dazed to fully process the words before Stiles was walking into the kitchen, stiffly. He looked at the empty door, then at the spot Stiles had occupied moments ago. Experimentally he clenched around the toy, whimpered at the sensation. Stiles had said he couldn’t come yet, right? Fuck. Fuck. It felt so good being filled like that. 

Derek rocked gently back against the toy, feeling it out, enjoying the fullness of it all. 

Stiles reappeared what felt like second and years later. “Oh fuck.” He smacked his thighs right above his pockets.

Derek watched with his mouth half open.  

The smell of sex was thick in the air, the scent of Stiles arousal overpoweringly so. Derek wanted to taste him, wanted to lick where the smell was strongest. Stiles had promised him he’d fuck Derek’s face, and Derek needed that like he had never needed anything more in his life.  

The vibrator turned on. He whimpered, shifted his hips. He should’ve seen it coming, Stiles had said he wanted to fuck Derek like that. He hadn’t tried vibrators before, but hot damn. It buzzed inside him, slow and low, in the most addictive way. Derek moved his hips again, pressing it in deeper, changing the angle ever so slightly so the thickest part pressed solidly against his prostate. 

“Damn,” Stiles said. “I think I could come just from watching you like that.” 

Derek didn’t want him to. “Fuck me,” he begged. “Fuck my face. Use my mouth. Please, I need it, I need you.” 

A soft gasp. Finally, fucking finally, the sound of a zipper opening. Derek moved again, moaning around the vibrator as Stiles changed the program, upping the intensity. It felt so good. It felt so damned good. 

Stiles rubbed his thumb against Derek’s lips, cradling his jaw softly. Derek licked his finger, licked his lips, got himself good and wet and ready for Stiles to fuck his face. 

“Good boy.” 

The fingers were replaced with Stiles’ dick, pushing gently against his spit slick lips. Willingly he opened his mouth, let Stiles push inside until he was choking around it, the head hitting the back of his throat. 

Stiles barely gave him a moment to adjust before moving his hips back, and snapping back in. He kept cradling Derek’s jaw, the other hand fisting his hair. “Tap me three times if you need air,” he said. 

Derek wouldn’t. He would take what Stiles would give him, even if it meant passing out from lack of oxygen. He choked around the length of Stiles, savoring the salty taste of precum covering his tongue. It felt so good, the weight of him inside Derek’s mouth, the taste, the sounds he made as Derek swallowed around him. 

Stiles was fucking him in earnest now, and Derek could do nothing but sit there and take it, the vibrator filling his ass while Stiles filled his mouth. 

Spit ran down his chin, his eyes were eyes watering. Stiles let go of his jaw, changing the setting on the vibrator. It buzzed louder, more insistent inside him. The vibrator moved in tandem with Stiles’ hips, rubbing against his prostate as Stiles fucked his mouth. 

Fuck, Derek was getting close so fast. His body was on fire, pleasure making everything white and hazy around the edges. He was choking on Stiles dick, gasping for air, moaning around Stiles’, whimpering at the loss whenever he withdrew to allow him a moment to breathe even though he didn’t ask for it. 

“Fuck, Derek!” was all the warning Derek got before Stiles snapped his hips against his face and warm come flooded his mouth. He swallowed around Stiles, trying to not waste any, but it escaped the side of his mouth, mixing with the wetness already there, dripping down his chest. 

He whimpered as Stiles grew soft inside his mouth. His hips were rocking back and forth at their own accord, searching for just a bit more. He hadn’t touched himself, but fuck, it wouldn’t take much before he was coming too. He would like that, like their come mixing on his stomach. 

Stiles slowly withdrew, leaving Derek with an empty mouth and a need he couldn’t quite voice. He blinked his eyes open, looking at Stiles. Everything was swimming. 

“Please,” he said, voice breaking, rough from having his mouth and throat used as a fucktoy. He wasn’t sure what he was asking for. 

“Damn, you look ruined.” 

Derek felt ruined. His dick was on fire, painfully throbbing with each movement of the vibrator inside him. His hole was sore and abused and so, so ready for more. His lower face was sticky with drying come and spit, and he felt hot the way he only was when he blushed. 

Stiles ran a gentle hand through his hair, soft and so contrasting to his earlier rough movements Derek almost started crying. He didn’t want gentle. He wanted Stiles to bend him in half and fuck him until he forgot his own name. He needed that so badly his entire body hurt with it. 

“I’m not going to fuck you right now,” Stiles said. “Remember what I said? This is because you came without my permission. I need to see that you can do it, can hold out. You’re good boy, right? You’ll be so good for me.” 

Derek whimpered, nodded, bit back a moan as Stiles, the fucker, turned the vibrator up a notch. It was so good. 

“Can you hold back? Can you be my good boy?” 

“Yes, yes, please, I will be so good, I’ll be the best, I need you to fuck me, I need it. Please, please,” he cried out, hands fisting the sheets beside him. His control was fraying around the edges. He heard the ripping sound before he registered what was happening, he had ripped the sheets with his claws. 

Stiles didn’t fuck him. Stiles didn’t seem to register his pleas. Instead he leaned down, kissing Derek’s come covered mouth, licking into him as if tasting himself on Derek’s lips did something to him. 

Derek whimpered against his lips, rocking back and forth, seeking that bit of friction that would tip him over the edge. How was he supposed to be good when he was kissed like that? 

“Stile-es!” he hadn’t wanted Stiles to stop kissing him. Kissing was good, great. Derek liked kissing, he especially liked kissing Stiles. Stiles kissed like he fucked, like a man in charge. Like he knew what Derek needed and would give it to him, if Derek was good enough. And Derek could be so, so good. 

Stiles turned down the vibrator, leaving it to buzz gently against Derek’s prostate, a thick, heavy and very moving reminder of what Derek needed. 

“You can be good,” Stiles told him again, caressing Derek’s face. “You can be a good boy and not come while I nap. If you are good, I’ll give you exactly what you want when I wake up as a reward.” 

Derek wasn’t so sure he could hold out. Stiles naps varied wildly in length. Once Derek had seen him take a powernap on the backseat of the jeep, jumping up after less than fifteen minutes, refreshed but with hair in disarray. He’d also seen him sleep like the dead for hours in the middle of the day, salivating on the ugly throw pillow Erica had gotten him, claiming it gave his loft personality. 

Fifteen minutes he could do. Fifteen minutes he could distract himself, avoid touching himself and just… survive. It wouldn’t be nice, not with how close he was and had been for a while, but it was doable. What if it was a three hour nap? Derek couldn’t survive three hours. There was no way. 

Stiles kissed him again. “I won’t sleep for half the day, worrywolf. That would just be cruel. Besides, I want to fuck you as much as you want to be fucked.” 

Derek had his doubts about that, considering the softness of Stiles’s dick.  

Stiles placed another soft kiss against his lips before shimming entirely out of his pants and dropping the t-shirt. Derek hadn’t even registered Stiles had still been dressed when fucking his mouth, too caught up in sucking his dick. 

“No point in wearing clothes when I’m gonna fuck you as the first thing after I wake up,” Stiles said.

Derek was inclined to agree. 

Then there was a soft sound of feet against the floorboards before the bed dipped behind him. The comforter rustled softly as Stiles pulled it around him.

“Come here.” Stiles padded the bed behind Derek. “I love being big spoon.” 

Derek opened his mouth to argue that he was bigger, and thereby a better big spoon, but the image of Stiles slotted against his back stopped him. Stiles had been big spoon on Monday too, and it had felt good like that. Derek had felt safe, cared for, with Stiles curled around his back. He rarely felt like that. 

Stiles dragged him close, groin against Derek’s ass. He wasn’t hard, didn’t have the refractory period Derek did. He wasn’t sure if he was thankful or upset about it. 

Gentle fingers caressed Derek’s stomach, his chest, never touching his nipples or his aching dick. He whined, trying to protest without words. 

“Shush, I need to sleep.” 

Derek whined again. Stiles could fuck him first, then nap. If he wasn’t able to get it up just yet Derek was more than happy to settle for a blowjob, or a handjob, or anything that wasn’t lying there, on his side with a vibrator up his ass, just waiting for Stiles to have mercy on him. 

There was no way in hell he was going to fall asleep, not with the vibrator still humming inside him. He whimpered softly as he moved, trying to get comfortable. Every movement sent shots of pleasure through his body, each clench of his body around the vibrator going straight to his dick. 

He listened for signs that Stiles was as affected as he was, but nothing, nada. Stiles breathing evened out fast, his heart rate going down, muscles relaxing. 

Derek whimpered in protest, slowly reaching down between his legs, touching himself. He gasped for air. It felt so good. His dick was so hard it was painful. He didn’t want his own fingers though, he wanted Stiles’. At the same time it was too much, he was so overstimulated the touch was bordering on painful. It wouldn’t take a minute for him to push himself over the edge, come all over his fist. 

So he let go, tears stinging in his eyes. Why had he allowed himself to come in the first place? Stiles wouldn’t have seen the need to punish him like this if he had been able to hold out in the first place. 

The vibrator kept buzzing against his most sensitive parts. It was so big, made Derek feel so utterly full. It was good. He was meant to be filled up and fucked, used. He was for Stiles to use. Fuck. 

Derek grabbed the pillow, buried his face in it, not caring in the least about the sticky combination of come, saliva, tears and snot that was staining it. He wanted Stiles to wake up so bad his entire body hurt with it, needed him in ways he’d never needed anything or anyone before. 

He needed to come. More importantly, he needed to come on Stiles dick or in his mouth or all over his hands.

It felt like years passed before Stiles finally stirred behind him, mumbling incoherently the way he sometimes did when he was very, very tired. 

Derek still had his head pressed into the pillow. 

“Derek?” 

He managed to make a sound that he hoped sounded like a yes. 

“Are you alright?” 

Derek forced himself out of the pillow as Stiles turned around, taking him in with hungry eyes. “Please,” he cried. “I need, I need, Stiles, fuck, please!” 

“How do you want to come?” Stiles asked. 

Derek hadn’t been aware there’d been a choice. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He’d considered how he wanted to come, sure, but presented with the choice his brain came to a screeching halt, and he was left to just stare at Stiles, eyes wide and wet. 

“Do you want your options?” 

He barely managed to nod. 

“I can make you come with my hands and the vibrator.” 

Derek nodded. Stiles smirked, showing off his teeth. 

“Or my mouth and the vibrator.” 

Derek nodded again. Yes, yes, he wanted that. 

“Or, if you’re a really good boy and can be patient a while longer, I could get myself ready, let you come inside me.” 

Derek whimpered, clenching around the vibrator. Was that really an option? He hadn’t imagined that. Somehow he had just assumed that he would bottom, and that was good, he loved it, but fuck if he didn’t want to be inside Stiles. 

“Yes, yes, please, I want to be inside you,” he rasped. 

Stiles leaned, sat up, guided Derek to lie down on his back. “Alright. And you’ll get that, just because you’ve been such a good, patient boy while I slept.” 

“So good,” Derek agreed.

“The best,” Stiles replied, straddling his thighs. He was hard again, Derek noticed. Would he be able to come again? Because fuck, Derek wanted to feel Stiles come on his dick. He would make it so good for Stiles, make him feel so good. 

“I won’t last,” he warned. 

“That’s okay. You’re either gonna knot me or be ready to go again in a moment, right?” 

Derek whimpered. 

“I would be so on board with you knotting me, Derek. I want you to fill me up, split me open. I want to wince whenever I sit down, I want that reminder of you inside me,” Stiles told him as he leaned over, grabbing the lube. 

He moved, spreading Derek’s legs, one thigh at a time. 

Then he leaned back, all long limbs, pale skin begging to be licked. His face was flushed, as was his chest, and Derek wanted his mouth all over.

And then Stiles spread his legs, squirting lube over his fingers, reaching down. “Oh fuck, it’s been a while.” 

One finger went in easily enough, Derek noticed, clenching around the vibrator inside of him. 

Stiles bit his lip, eyes fluttering closed as he added another one, gently moving his fingers in and out.

Derek wanted to move his fingers, replace them with his own, with his dick. He wanted to touch himself, but if he did he wouldn’t last long enough to get inside Stiles. 

He rolled his hips, rocking the vibrator just so. Oh fuck. 

“Do you think I’m going to be able to feel the vibrator when you fuck me? If we turn it up enough?” 

Derek had no idea. Probably not, but he liked the idea of that. Of him being impaled by the vibrator, fucking Stiles, of the vibrations pleasuring the both of them. Yes. He really liked that. 

Stiles added a third finger, opening himself up with easy movements. It might have been a while, Derek thought, but he’d clearly done it before. He’d clearly done it recently, with how fast his body adjusted. 

“Fuck, I’m so wet and ready for you,” Stiles moaned. “Lie back down. I want to fuck myself on you. I want to ride you until you come, or knot me, I don’t care. I need you in me like yesterday.” 

Derek’s erection twitched in anticipation. He licked his lips, leaned back on his elbows. Stiles moved again, hovered over Derek. 

“Get the remote control.” 

Derek reached out, grabbed it from where Stiles had placed it on the bedside table. 

“Good boy.” Then he moved to straddle Derek’s groin, legs flushed with his side. Derek could feel the wetness of Stiles’ lubed hole rubbing against him. He moved his hips, seeking more, friction, anything. 

“Stay still.” 

He stiffened against the bed, working hard to control his hips. He wanted to rut against Stiles, wanted to fuck him, knot him, come inside him and make him smell like Derek. 

Fuck. 

Stiles adjusted his seat, grabbed Derek’s dick. 

It took everything he had not to move. He adjusted the angle, lining himself up. Getting seated was a slow process, pure torture of pleasure. Derek was forced to lie still, and just take it, watch Stiles slowly sink himself down on his dick.

He’d never felt anything so mind-blowingly perfect before. It was like Stiles was meant to take him, the way Derek was meant to be fucked by Stiles. 

The tight heat around his dick made it even more difficult to keep control. Everything was frayed, hazy around the edges, and Stiles was there, so tight, so warm, clenching around Derek’s length, moaning softly. 

“Fuck, you feel amazing.” 

Derek whined. 

Stiles moved his fingers in a ‘gimme’ gesture. It took a moment for his brain to process, to understand what was being asked of him. He handed over the remote control, teeth clenched. 

Stiles turned on the vibrator, a new program, buzzing up and down at a slow pace he matched with his hips, lifting himself up and down Derek’s dick. 

He looked gorgeous like that, picking up the pace as he turned up the vibrations. 

Derek moaned, threw his head back into the pillow, allowing Stiles to use him like he wanted. 

“I’m not gonna,” Derek warned. 

“I don’t want you to hold back,” Stiles said. “You’ve been so good for me.” 

Looking at Stiles was a mistake. He was gorgeous, fucking himself on Derek’s dick. His pale skin was flushed pink, cock standing proud and red in front of him as he rocked down. Derek whimpered. It was too much. 

Stiles turned up the vibrator, matched it with the pace of his hips, snapping down on Derek, using him like there was no tomorrow. It was hard to breathe, everything coming out as gasps. He whimpered, cried, overwhelmed and so, so turned on. 

“Stiles,” he tried to warn, pleasure bordering on pain, everything tensing. He was so close. 

“Yes, fuck, yes! Come in me, fill me up!” Stiles rocked his hips back, clenching around Derek, and that was all it took: He was unable to hold back, the permission to knot, to fill Stiles too much.

Derek’s knot started to fill, pleasure intensifying from where Stiles clenched around him. He whimpered, the combined stimulation from the vibrator and Stiles clenching around his sensitive knot too much. 

Derek’s hips moved against Stiles, pushing his dick impossibly far inside, knot locking into place.

He blanked out for a moment. When he came to it, Stiles was rocking back and forth in small movements, hand on his dick, clearly seeking his own pleasure on Derek’s dick. 

Stiles reached forward, started jerking himself off. 

His orgasm was all it took for Derek to come again. The feeling of Stiles clenching around him, the overpowering scent of arousal, the knowledge that he did that. He cried through it, pain bordering on pleasure as he came into Stiles, filling him just like he’d been asked to do. 

“Such a good boy,” Stiles slurred. 

Derek whimpered in response, squeezing his eyes shut. Seeing Stiles like that was too much. He was so beautiful, so utterly fucked, covered in his own come and with lips spit slick and bitten red, hair even more mussed than usual. 

Stiles finally took mercy, turning off the vibrator, allowing Derek a moment to breathe. 

“Do you think you can come again?” Stiles asked, causing Derek’s eyes to snap open. 

He’d just had two orgasms, and Stiles wanted him to have a third? 

“Don’t know,” he rasped. 

That was the wrong thing to say. If he’d just said no, maybe Stiles would leave it at that, accept that two orgasms so shortly after one another was good, more than the average human man would ever achieve. But no, of course that wasn’t enough. 

“I want you to.” 

It was a threat, not a promise. Stiles clearly wanted Derek to fuck his brain out through his dick, reduce him to nothing but a begging mess. 

He loved it. 

The smile on Stiles’ face told him everything he needed to know. Stiles knew he wanted more, knew how much Derek enjoyed being reduced to his fuck toy. 

“How long before your knot goes down?” 

“Don’t know.” He really didn’t. He hadn’t knotted anyone before. Hell, even springing a knot was rare for him, and with Stiles it just… happened. They had to be a whole new level of compatibility for that to happen. 

“Oh well, there's only one way to find out, isn’t there?” 

Derek felt like it was utterly unfair how fast Stiles was ready again. He was reeling from his last orgasm, everything fuzzy around the edges, head swimming in the clouds, and there Stiles was, smirking and lucid and clear-headed even though he had just come. 

The vibrator started up again, a slow buzzing at first, almost gentle, a reminder of the fact that he was filled out good. 

Gentle wasn’t Stiles’ style.

He shifted the program again, until he found one that had Derek yelping, the vibrator moving against his prostate in ways he hadn’t known it could. 

He was so fucked. 

Stiles clenched around his knot, and all of a sudden it became very, very clear to Derek that he was capable of coming a third time. It wouldn’t even take much. 

It was so good, and way too much. It was pain, pain, pain, pleasure mixing in, his dick throbbing, his entire body on fire. 

He had no idea he could feel so good. 

Shutting his eyes did nothing to stop the tears from running down his face. It didn’t make his gasps of pleasure-pain quieter. It didn’t make Stiles take mercy on him either. 

The soft pad of Stiles thumb circled his left nipple. Derek grasped at the bedsheets, desperately trying to keep some semblance of control. 

His idea of control lasted until Stiles pinched his nipple. He was crying out then, orgasm entirely overwhelming him as he pumped into Stiles, unable to focus on anything but filling him to the brim with come.  

He blanked out entirely after that. 

The vibrator was buzzing gently inside him when he came to it, Stiles' head swimming in and out of focus. 

“Fuck,” he moaned. 

“Another?” Stiles asked. 

Derek had no answer for that. He was ready to swear a fourth orgasm was out of reach, but it was Stiles, and he was nothing if not relentless. 

What could he do but lie there and let Stiles play with him, use him? Derek wanted to be used, wanted to be fucked and fuck Stiles, wanted to his good boy. 

Stiles experimentally rolled his hips. He couldn’t move much, Derek’s knot effectively locking them together for the time being, but it didn’t stop him from shifting his hips, causing friction, clenching around Derek in ways that had him moaning like a porn star. 

Every touch against his nipples sent pleasure down his groin. Every vibration in his ass made his head swim. 

Derek was barely coherent by the time Stiles made him come a fourth time, crying through it, tears running down his face as overstimulation overtook him. 

It hurt so good. He’d never experienced anything like it. 

Stiles had him through it all, petted him gently, pressed soft kisses to his face, murmuring about how good Derek was, how beautiful he looked for him. 

Derek almost believed it. 

“Such a good boy,” Stiles told him, kissing the bridge of his nose. “I’m so proud of you.” 

His head swam as Stiles turned off the vibrator, apparently, finally, maybe, deciding that enough was enough. Derek was grateful. Another orgasm would surely break him. 

“So good,” Stiles said, thumbs removing the tears that kept leaking from his eyes. 

Why was he crying? He felt good. He felt so good. Stiles said he was good.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.” 

Was he still crying? Why was he crying? It felt so good. He felt so good, brain all fuzzy and confused and hazy. He wanted more, but nothing in his body was under his control. 

Stiles climbed off him. When had his knot gone down? 

Stiles helped him lie on his side. 

Derek winced. He had momentarily forgotten about the vibrator filling him up. 

Stiles drew him closer, hugging Derek to his chest. Derek let himself be hugged and petted and kissed. He let Stiles whisper sweet words of praise into his hair, against his ear. Words he didn’t deserve, but allowed himself to believe in that moment. Because it was Stiles saying them, and Stiles would never lie to him, not about something like that. Not when they were pressed naked together. 

“I’m not sad,” he managed. It seemed important that Stiles knew, understood that part. “That’s not why.” 

“I know.” 

How? 

“It’s okay. You’re very, very overstimulated right now, and likely more than a little high on endorphins. Crying is normal. It’s good. Your body needs a release.” 

“I’ve just come four times,” Derek pointed out, sulking. It felt wrong, somehow, to cry post orgasm, especially when he had been good. 

Stiles laughed, chest jumping with it. 

“That’s not the same.” 

Maybe not. 

“How do you know?” 

Stiles sighed softly, petting his hair. 

Derek fought to get his breathing under control and the tears to stop running. 

“How do you know all of this?” Derek asked, moving so he could look at Stiles. 

There was a soft smile playing around his lips, amber eyes dark brown in the low light inside the bedroom. 

“You might be surprised by this – but this is not the first time I’m doing something like this,” Stiles told him.

Derek made a sound of acknowledgement. He wasn’t surprised.  

“So, I’ve known for a while that I like sex with a side of powerplay. That I like being in control. I found someone to explore that with, and, well, once you know the signs, it wasn’t that hard to put two and two together when it came to you.” 

Frowning, Derek tried to figure out what Stiles could possibly mean with that. “I didn’t know I liked this.” 

Stiles grinned. “Ah, yeah, I figured.” 

“So how did you?” 

He closed his eyes as Stiles caressed his hair, movements gentle and soft. If Derek was a cat he would be purring, it was that good. 

“I’m pretty observant, you know that. It’s my job to be observant, and well, if you don’t mind me bragging, I’m really fucking good at pattern recognition. I’ve known you for years Derek. I know how much you fight to always be in control. I know how hard you work for your betas, to help them better themselves. I know how hard you worked for me and Scott when we lived here. I know I wasn’t always the best at telling you, probably because I didn’t realize back then, but I do now. So, thank you.” 

Derek wasn’t really sure what that had to do with anything. 

“I could tell that… you don’t really enjoy it, you know? I mean, yeah, sure, you like being in control. You like being the big, bad alpha from time to time. You need an outlet too. Somewhere you can relax and let go, let someone else be in charge.” 

Derek opened his eyes, surveyed Stiles’ face, trying to understand. Yes. Yes to all of the above, but how the hell had Stiles gone from that and into what had just transpired between them? 

“I also know that there’s no way you’d let someone else take over your pack or your responsibilities as an alpha. You don’t trust people like that. I know it’s difficult for you to relax.” 

“Are you calling me uptight?” he tried to joke. It fell flat between them, slowly, like a piece of paper they both watched floating to the floor, landing softly. 

“No. I’m not. But Derek, can you say that anything I just said isn’t true?” 

It took his orgasm-wrecked brain a moment to wrap his head around what Stiles had just said. “I can’t,” he admitted, grumpily. 

Before he could ask how, Stiles had already started talking again: “You’re touch starved. Ah, don’t look at me like that. It’s not obvious unless you know what to look for, but I do. You were back when I was a dumb, oblivious teenager and didn’t notice, and you are now.” 

“I still don’t get it,” Derek said. He really didn’t. 

“Mhm, maybe it’s because there’s not anything to get, per say? It’s just clues I puzzled together, slowly, over time, that led me to believe that maybe you would enjoy this as much as I do, maybe you’d want something like this with me. Maybe not, and that would’ve been fine too. I had to take a chance on that.” 

Derek was glad he had, even if he didn’t understand the explanation. 

“Uh, well, the way you reacted with the whole duct tape incident sorta just… cemented things for me and confirmed that you were quite possibly interested in me as well. I always thought you were hot. I’ve wanted to fuck you since I met you.” 

It took all he had to move his hand, place it on Stiles shoulder, to caress the soft skin there. Derek wanted to say something, wanted to let Stiles know he was glad he’d taken that chance, but the words were stuck in his throat. 

It was okay, though. Stiles was observant, and the way his smile slowly grew softer told Derek that he understood. 

He wanted to tell Stiles that he had wanted that for a while too. Not from the moment they met, Stiles had been way too annoying and gangly and all over the place back then. Or maybe, more likely, it had been Derek who hadn’t been ready to admit his attraction and instead decided to think of Stiles as an annoying teenager. 

“I still don’t get it.” 

“Do you want me to spell it out for you?” Stiles asked. 

Derek nodded. He pretty much wanted exactly that. 

Stiles sighed theatrically, rolled his eyes. Everything about his demeanor was fond. For a moment  Derek could let himself believe that this was a thing, them, a couple, talking after sex. That it was more than just really good fucking between friends. 

“Okay, let’s start from the beginning, then. Hello, I’m Stiles. I’ve got ADHD, and with that comes the ability to hyperfocus. I like sex. I like sex with hot men a lot and girls. But that’s not relevant right now. I’m smart, so I know when I see someone who has unfulfilled needs – like you. I also know when someone is sexually attracted to me. So, I put two and two together and figured that it was worth taking a chance with you. And sex. With me.”

Derek rolled his eyes right back at him. 

“Don’t be so cheeky,” Stiles said, poking his nose in retaliation. “I had a gut feeling that you’d enjoy someone taking care of you, taking the choice away from you, yeah? So I went with that, took a chance, and here we are. You can always tell me no and I will back off, but until you do, the decision making is mine.” 

Derek hummed, leaned forward, pressed a soft kiss to Stiles’ lips. Stiles was observant, yes, but there was one very vital thing he’d missed. 

Derek was head over heels for him. He wanted more than a sexual relationship. So much more. 

Stiles stilled, looking at Derek, as if searching his soul. 

“Derek, I need to ask you something. I really need you to be honest with me.” 

Swallowing heavily, Derek nodded. 

“Was it too much today?” 

Somehow that was not what he’d anticipated at all. 

“Too much?” he repeated. 

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even more. It itched in Derek to reach out, play with the soft strands, feel it run through his fingers. 

“Yeah. Like, we’ve actually never talked about this, have we? What you want, what I want, boundaries, that sorta thing? I’m trying my best, but I mean, we don’t even have a safe word for crying out loud. I get that you can break free at any time, but I also don’t know if you’d do it.” 

Derek blinked, still not really sure he was following the conversation. It was way too serious for his hazy, post orgasmic brain. There was a limit to how much thinking he was able to do. 

“It was fine.” 

“I made you cry. Multiple times.” 

Derek glared. He wasn’t entirely happy to be reminded of that little fact. “I didn’t mean to. You said it was okay.” 

“Yeah, and it is, it is, if it’s because it’s so good you just can’t help it. Like it seemed to be just before?” Derek nodded his confirmation. “But at the car, you seemed genuinely upset. That’s not… that’s not what I’m trying to do here, Derek. I don’t want to upset you.” 

Stiles’ gaze on him felt too weighted all of a sudden. Derek tried to look away. Was running away an option? If he hid in the bathroom, they could have the conversation through the door. It felt like a less daunting option. 

“Derek.” 

Fuck him. Just. Fuck him. Fuck Stiles for being gorgeous and knowing it. He had no problems turning his eyes on Derek to get what he wanted, clearly. Derek realized there was a reason the Sheriff had letting his son get away with so much shit over the years, and that he was no less immune. 

“I was,” he admitted. His voice was barely loud enough to be heard in the bedroom. “I was upset.” 

“Why?” 

His face heated. He had to look like he’d just smeared a beat all over his cheeks. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.” 

“You could never.” 

Derek made a sound. “Yeah, I can. I’ve done so repeatedly. Maybe not today, but I have. I can.” 

“Derek…” 

“Whatever. I was upset, I thought I had disappointed you. I thought… for a moment I thought I had ruined whatever this is.” 

“That takes quite a bit more than coming early,” Stiles said. His smile was gentle, never like he thought less of Derek. “As long as you want this, I’m more than happy to provide you with it.” 

“I want it.” 

“So I didn’t push you too far?” 

Derek shook his head. 

“I need you to tell me if I do.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Promise?” 

Derek glared. Hadn’t he just said yes? How much clearer could he be? “Promise.” 

Stiles leaned over, kissed him gently. 

Derek kissed back, leaning into it. The room smelled like them, like sex. It was impossible not to want more. 

“How about some takeaway first?” Stiles suggested, grinning. “You can keep wearing the vibrator if you want to.” 

Squinting, Derek contemplated that. On one hand it was incredibly tempting to sit through an entire meal, full, ready and wet. On the other, he knew it was going to be torture. The smaller, non-vibrating butt plug had been difficult enough. Now Stiles wanted him with something even bigger, something he had the control over? 

They ordered pizza. 

Derek felt entirely awkward buzzing the deliveryman upstairs with a giant fucking butt plug up his ass. He left a good tip, even though he knew there was no way the kid could’ve known what was going on underneath his clothes. He made sure not to turn around, uncertain if the base of the plug would outline against his pants.

Stiles waited until they’d devoured most of their pizza before he turned on the vibrator. Derek could see the moment he decided that he’d been patient enough, smile shifting into something sly. 

He whimpered. 

“I want you hard, wet and ready for me once we’re done eating.” Or rather, once Stiles was done eating. There was no way Derek could focus on pizza, not when the vibrator buzzed inside of him, harder, faster, rubbing against his prostate. 

He rocked back. The hard chair provided a much better surface than the bed at pushing the plug in, making it rub all the right places. 

Stiles kept eating, slowly, making sure to take the time to lick his lips and fingers with care. What could Derek do but watch when his digits made it past his lips, disappearing deeper inside? He wanted his fingers there, his dick. He knew how good Stiles' mouth felt, knew how he could work his tongue. Was it really so unfair that he wanted that too? 

Clearly Stiles thought so, because he turned the vibrator up. 

Derek moaned, leaned over the table, spineless from pleasure. He rocked his hips back, seeking more, needing to be fucked the way Stiles would fuck him. Rocked his hips forward, needing friction, yet refusing to touch himself. 

Fuck. Just fuck him. He had a great tolerance for pain, but for pleasure? Abysmal, that was what his tolerance for pleasure was. Rip of a limb and he would be fine. Plug him up, fuck him well? He had no chance of withstanding that. 

Stiles knew. 

Derek could only watch as the smirk grew, the vibrator turning up and up and up. 

“You know…” 

Derek didn’t know. How was he supposed to know anything when his brain was currently being fucked out via extra large vibrator in his ass? 

“I haven’t said you can’t come.” 

He whimpered. Was that an option? Could he come already? Stiles usually took a special pleasure in torturing Derek before allowing him that. 

“I think it’s hot. That you have so little self-control that you’re gonna come in your pants like a teenager. Did that ever happen to you? Did you ever lose control like that? ” 

Derek shook his head. Plenty awkward boners, wet dreams, but he hadn’t ever come in his pants while awake and lucid. Then again, he hadn’t known Stiles when he was a teenager either..

“Are you really going to destroy my fantasy?” Stiles clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Oh well. I like this better. It means that it’s me you’ve got bad self control around, me that makes it difficult for you to hold back, and that’s way hotter. I like that. I like that I can do that to you. I like that I can make you so fucking horny you’re willing to come in your pants.” 

Oh, he was more than willing. He pushed the heel of his hand down against his straining erection, moaning unashamedly. It sounded so loud in the kitchen. 

“I like how wet you get when you’re aroused. Are your boxers already sticky? Oh, just you wait, it’s gonna be so much worse once you’ve soaked them in come. I want you to come. I want you to sit there while I finish eating in your come-soaked jeans, thinking about what I just made you do.” 

Derek nodded, panting. Fuck, it felt good. 

Stiles turned up the vibrator, causing him to yelp. It was an onslaught of pleasure, hammering against his prostate. 

Moaning, Derek pushed down against the chair, hips going faster, faster, chasing that orgasm. 

“Yes, that’s it Derek. Let me see you come.”

Derek fucked himself down on the vibrator, no longer caring about the inevitable sticky, messy situation he would leave in his pants. 

Pleasure was building fast. Stiles turned the vibrator up another nudge, and that was all it took. He moaned his way through his orgasm, head thrown back as his body clenched around the vibrator. 

He whimpered, moaned, gasped, pushed his dick against his hand, his ass down on the vibrator. Hot come spurted into his underwear, soaking the thin fabric. 

The vibrator came to an abrupt halt, stilling inside of him. He made a sound of protest. 

Stiles was looking at him with his mouth half open, hunger evident in his eyes. “Damn.”  

Nodding his agreement, Derek felt foggy. He moved his hand away from his groin, noticing the wet stain in front of his jeans. He’d come hard, long. It was no wonder he had soaked through the fabric. 

“I could’ve come from just watching you get off,” Stiles said. “I didn’t, but fuck, that was only because I don’t have the refractory period you do.” 

That was unfair. He whined. Stiles should come watching him. That was hot. 

“Are you up for more once I’ve finished eating?” 

“Yes.” Like that was ever a question.

There was a soft click of a lock unlocking. 

The sound of a door handle being pushed down. 

It took Derek way, way too long to process that it was his door that was being unlocked and opened.

He looked over at Stiles, eyes wide. 

Mortified, he could do nothing but watch as Erica was followed by Boyd, and Isaac, and what the hell, Scott? Why was Scott there? There was no way he could hide from them what had just happened. 

Erica made a face and turned on her stilettos, walking right back out as she said: “We’re gonna go and get takeout.” 

Boyd raised his eyebrows, smiling like a cat before following her. 

“The hell guys, the kitchen ?” Isaac protested, backing out. 

Scott was the only one brave enough to step in, pinching his nose. His face suggested that he had exactly the same opinion as Isaac. 

With determination written all over his face he walked inside the loft, opened a window, glared at Stiles, then at Derek, and hurried out, the door slamming behind him.  

Derek blinked at the closed door, trying to process what had just happened. 

Stiles laughed, belly deep. He kept laughing until he was lying halfway over the table, tears streaming down his face. 

Derek wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. His face was flushed hot, his body thrumming with the need to hide. He’d never wanted his betas to see him like that. Or anyone, for that matter. 

“Oh my god, Derek, did you see their faces?” Stiles laughed. 

Derek had. He still didn’t see the fun in it. 

“They were so offended that you dared to have sex in your apartment! Right before they came over, unannounced and uninvited! Oh my god. They were lucky we were dressed, everything considered.” 

Okay, Derek agreed with that. 

“There’s no need to be so embarrassed,” Stiles said. “Sex is natural. They’re just upset that they don’t get to see you like I do.” 

His tone was dropping in the way that suggested he found Derek very, very hot. He walked around the table. Derek felt pretty sure his betas and Scott had zero desire to see him like that, but… 

“And if they aren’t, they should be.” Stiles was in his space, turning the barstool around, crowding him, pushing their hips flush, kissing him hard and hungrily and like Derek was air and Stiles was drowning. 

He moaned into it. 

Stiles licked his way into Derek’s mouth. 

His dick was straining against his pants, ready faster than it should’ve been possible even for a werewolf. Fuck. Stiles did things to him. 

“Do you want to go again? Or wanna be a good host and clean up and air out before they return?” Stiles asked, grinding his hips against Derek’s. 

Derek grabbed Stiles’ hips, kept him close.

“Not worried they will find you in a compromising position?” 

“They’ll learn to knock.” Maybe. Unlikely. It didn’t matter, because Stiles was there, smelling like him and sex and hard and wanting. 

Stiles hummed, clearly satisfied with that answer. 

It shouldn’t be hot having Stiles grind against him like they were horny teenagers. The slide of comesoaked fabric eased the way, and Derek was unable to focus on anything but the overwhelming sensation of pure pleasure coursing through his veins. 

And as if it could get any better, the vibrator purred to life inside him, slow at first, quickly matching Stiles’ pace. 

Whimpering Derek threw his head back. 

Stiles teeth were on him the moment he did, biting, nipping, small shots of pain erupting from where they came into contact with Derek’s sensitive skin. 

“Can you come again?” 

Derek nodded. 

“Do you want to? Or would you rather wait until after they come back and leave again? You know what I can do. You know we don’t have time for me to fuck you good. Or for you to fuck me. We could wait. I could fuck your brains out. Make you unable to walk straight for the next week.” 

“Oh.” Derek whimpered. Stiles was grinding against him hard. He wanted to be fucked just like that. “Pack night,” he gasped out. 

“Pack night?” 

“Forgot.” 

“So they won’t go home, huh?” 

Derek shook his head, grabbing Stiles’ hips like his life depended on it. Maybe it did, because Stiles was turning up the vibrations again, changing the pattern. It was rubbing inside him, making him see stars. Fuck. Fuck. 

“Mh. Then I’ll have to finish you off before they return I suppose.” He sounded almost disappointed. 

Derek would’ve been too if it wasn’t for the fact that another orgasm was building quickly. He was grinding against Stiles, back against the vibrator, back and forth, back and forth, hips uncoordinated against the chair.

The front of his jeans were soaked with come and precome, wet, slippery, easing the slide in a way that had him crying out against Stiles’ lips, his neck, whatever he could get his mouth on.

“Oh fuck, Derek. “

“Yes, yes, yes,” he chanted. 

“I’m going to…” was all the warning Stiles managed to stammer out before he stiffened against Derek, groaning, gasping his way through his orgasm. 

Derek followed. The smell, listening to Stiles, seeing him like that was all it took. 

He came to it with his forehead resting against Stiles’, gasping for air. Fuck. Fuck. 

“I think I need to borrow a pair of jeans,” Stiles muttered. There was a soft kiss against Derek’s hair, something that for a moment felt more like it was for a lover than a fuckbuddy. 

“Yeah.” 

“And that we need to open more windows. And shower. Even I can smell that we just had sex.” 

Derek huffed. There was no way the apartment would smell neutral when they returned. He might as well continue to smell like Stiles. 

“Come on sourwolf. I’ll wash you down.” 

Derek was not at all in the mood for getting up and washing. The smell of Stiles on him had yet to become a permanent fixture, and the more he showered the shorter it would last. He hated it. 

Getting the buttplug out was not a comfortable experience. It felt great going in, even better filling him out and vibrating his brain out from his ass, but out? He grimaced uncomfortably. 

“I know. Sorry.” 

The promised washing was gentle, almost mechanical in a way. There was no passion behind it beside getting them clean before the betas arrived back. Derek wanted to growl at the water and soap for washing away the smell of Stiles and them. He wanted it to be permanent, tattooed on his skin like the triskele. 

“Since when does Scott come over for pack nights?” Stiles asked as he put on his boxers, still damp from the shower. “It wasn’t my impression that you got along all that well last time I was here.” 

Derek looked at him struggling to get his pants on standing instead of sitting down like a normal unbalanced person would. Hopping on one leg Stiles kept staring at him instead of looking at what he was doing. 

“We don’t,” Derek replied. “But he needs a pack.” The and since you aren’t here hung unsaid in the air. Stiles alone wouldn’t have been enough, not in the long run. Werewolves needed some of their own, Scott did too. 

Stiles tumbled down in the bed, having realized that he was fighting a losing battle against his pant leg. “You’d do that for him?”

 “I know what being alone feels like,” Derek reminded him, gently. It wasn’t the time to rip up old wounds. Stiles had, rightfully so, yelled at him years prior for turning a bunch of misfit teenagers. “I wouldn’t do that to him.” 

Hell, he wouldn’t do that to anyone, much less someone who was actually a semi-decent if really annoying person. 

Stiles swallowed audibly. “I know you do. Thank you. You know. For not letting him just be alone.” 

Derek shrugged. It wasn’t a terribly hard thing to do. He had sensed the negative change in Scott about six months after Stiles had moved, and well, it was either that or watch him go rogue. 

It didn’t mean they were great friends or saw each other much. Mostly Scott hung out with Isaac, sometimes Boyd. Never Erica alone though. Occasionally they’d all be together, for pack night. It was enough to keep Scott from going crazy, and little enough that Derek didn’t feel any overly murderous tendencies towards him. 

His phone buzzed. A text from Erica stating that they were on their way back and he better be dressed or else!!!! 

He contemplated for a moment not putting on a t-shirt just for that, but decided against it. Erica was terrifying in her own right. There was no need to tempt her into putting nasty things in his shoes or stab him with her stilettos. 

“They’ll be here in a moment,” Derek said. 

“Do you think they brought enough food for us?” Stiles wondered, putting on a sock, sitting this time thankfully.

“You literally just ate.”  

“Yeah, but you know, I’m a growing boy and sex is hard work and all that jazz.” 

Derek grinned. “I have chips in the kitchen.” 

“Oh man, you’ve got chips lying around and don’t eat them? That’s some impressive self control, oh my god. I couldn’t. Like. Teach me your ways, master.” 

Fully dressed Derek made sure to close the door to the bedroom and open the window inside to let the air of sex dissipate just a bit. 

“It’s for pack nights.” 

“Yeah, but like, you could just buy more.” 

Derek shrugged. He liked chips well enough, but not to the point of eating an entire bag of it very often. Unless it was pack night, and therefore movie night. 

Stiles rummaged through his kitchen until he found the box. “Oh my god Derek! Why do you have so many?” 

“Scott likes that kind with sour cream and onion best. I like the other kind. Erica prefers Cheetos. Boyd is more of a salt chip guy. Isaac will claim to love them all, but he goes crazy for Doritos,” Derek explained. Which, maybe didn’t explain all the other chips also in the box. 

“Dude, you’ve got chips for Scott?” 

“Yes. He’s pack.” Maybe not core pack, but pack was pack and it wasn’t a big deal to buy the variant he liked. 

His phone buzzed, a warning from Erica that they were on their way up. “They’ll be here in a moment.” 

Stiles winked. “Time to get indecent.”

Derek huffed, rolled his eyes and set about putting plates on the table for everyone. No matter how much Erica begged, there was no food on his sofa. It was nasty. Chips crumbs he could vacuum, but pizza stains or curry? No. 

There was knocking on the door, demanding. Erica pushed it open, hollering: “I hope you are decent!” 

“Depends on your definition of decent,” Stiles yelled back. 

“Are you wearing clothes?” 

Derek could hear her her unzip her leather jacket. 

“Mostly!” 

“Humping each other?” 

Stiles grinned. “Not right at this moment.” 

Which. Fair. They had been at it the moment they’d left the loft. 

“Stiles, bro, my man, please don’t make me gauge out my eyes! Or nostrils!” Scott begged from the entrance. He was carrying a stack of pizza boxes, way more than him, Erica, Boyd and Isaac could consume on their own. 

“You’re paying,” Erica told Derek matter of factly. “Consider it a small price compared to the amount of trauma you’ve just put us through.” 

Derek lifted his brows, conveying his skepticisms. 

“It's like seeing your parents have sex,” Boyd explained. Derek made a face, and looked over to see his expression mirrored on Stiles. 

“There are things you just know happens, but don’t wanna know, you know?” Isaac supplied. 

Derek wasn’t quite sure he did, but before he could ask why the pack thought of him and Stiles as their parents, Stiles opened his mouth. 

“So does that make me the mom or dad?” 

“Mom,” Erica said. 

Stiles squinted. “Clearly I’m the dad-type. I even have the jokes down.” 

“Yeah, no. Derek’s the dad. I mean, you’re our honorary pack-mom,” Isaac said. 

Boyd nodded his agreement. 

“I don’t want to be your parent,” Stiles pouted.

Scott looked at Stiles over the pizza boxes. “Maybe stop acting like one, then,” he suggested in a rare moment of insightfulness. There was a truth to Stiles being a pack mom, at least while he had been living in Beacon Hills. Always making sure everyone was okay, bandaging up wounds and icing sprains so they would heal just that bit faster. Reminding people to eat healthy, no matter how many times Derek told him that lifestyle diseases literally did not apply to werewolves, because hey, supernatural metabolism.

“It’s a compliment,” Erica said. “Sit down, eat your pizza and stop overthinking it.”

“We literally just ate. Derek, please say you are full too so I’m not the only one who isn’t eating,” Stiles said, despite his claims five minutes prior about being able to eat. 

Derek shrugged. 

“Dereeeek,” Stiles whined. 

“What can I say? I worked up an appetite.” Derek found himself smirking as the entire pack groaned. 

“I did not need to hear that,” Isaac said.

“So you continued fucking after we left?” 

Derek looked at Erica as she sat down on her usual chair, flicking her blonde hair down her back.

“Yes! In fact–“ Stiles started

“- do you really want to know that?” Derek interrupted him with a glare. 

Scott and Isaac both grimaced at that. Everyone hurried to get pizza on their plates, Stiles included despite his complaint about being too full. 

“What can I say? It smells delicious!” he said before he stuffed his mouth. 

Derek grabbed a slice of pepperoni. He hadn’t lied when he said he had worked up an appetite. Plus it was good pizza. 

“Does this mean you are together?” Boyd asked, waving his pizza size between Derek and Stiles. 

Swallowing, Derek glanced at Stiles, trying to work out what the appropriate answer was. He could hear Stiles’ heartbeat pick up, but wasn’t sure what it meant. 

They looked at each other, awkwardly, waiting for the other to answer. Derek’s face felt hot. Somehow it was a more personal question than whether or not they fucked. 

Stiles opened his mouth, and for a moment he looked soft and vulnerable. Then his features hardened into a smirk. “Nah, we’re just fucking around.” 

Boyd looked at Derek. He forced himself to nod in confirmation. 

Stiles was the only one at the table who didn’t know how Derek felt about him. Stiles was the only one that hadn’t heard the way Derek’s heartbeat had stuttered at Stiles' answer.

“It’s not like, I’m not around often,” Stiles said, as if that explained anything. 

“He isn’t,” Derek agreed, tone too light, fooling absolutely no one except Stiles. He didn’t care. He didn’t care. They weren’t in a relationship, and he was entirely one hundred percent okay with that. 

“Pf, like that’s an excuse,” Erica said. There was barely concealed pity in her eyes when she looked at Derek. She knew exactly how he felt. He wasn’t good at hiding it. “Many people make long distance relationships work.” 

Derek glared at her. ”Whatever. The sex is great,” he said, just to shut his betas up. He wasn’t in the mood to talk about relationships, especially not when Stiles had repeatedly made it very clear what he wanted. 

Stiles beamed beside him. 

“No need to get your panties in a twist,” she said, glaring back. “Just don’t do something stupid like knock each other up.” 

Derek rolled his eyes. “Can werewolves do that?” Stiles asked. “Is male pregnancy a thing? Why have I never heard about that before? I mean, outside fanfic, but that’s fanfic, right? Right?” 

Trying to keep a straight face was impossible. Derek started snickering as his betas began laughing in earnest. 

Stiles looked at them in turn, making sure everyone knew exactly how unhappy he was with them laughing by the way he stared. If looks could kill there would be a room full of dead werewolves. 

“Why are you laughing?” he asked. “It’s a valid question. I didn’t think knotting was a thing outside fanfiction either, but here we are.” 

Derek could feel blood rush to his face. He was likely resembling a tomato. 

“Is knotting a real thing?” Scott asked, eyes round and fixed on Derek as if he didn’t know whether to be terrified or impressed.

Derek wondered what the hell Stiles and Scott did together and then promptly decided he was a lot happier not knowing.

“What’s knotting?” Isaac asked, echoed by Erica. 

Boyd’s mouth kept moving as if he repeated the word ‘knotting’, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. 

“Well, you see Isaac, when a werewolf male is very, very turned on, his penis can do this thing –“ 

“Nope, nope, nope!” Scott yelled, covering his hands with his ears. 

“- which is frankly damned awesome to be the receiving end off, but basically it’s like this,” Stiles continued, making a crude gesture with his fingers. 

Isaac looked horrified. “Does it explode ?” 

Derek opened his mouth, thought better of it and closed it again. Scott continued his off-key song of nopes. 

“No, no! Why would that feel any good for anyone involved?” Stiles looked perplexed. “No, it just, balloons out? At the base? For a full experience and it’s like, damn. So good.” 

Erica looked at Boyd, then at Derek, then back at Boyd. “Why have we never done that?” 

Boyd looked at Derek. 

Kept looking at him. 

Derek wished the ground would just open up and swallow him whole and let him die peacefully.

“He never told me about it,” Boyd told Erica, but kept looking at Derek.

“Or me!” Isaac agreed. 

Scott kept singing nope. 

Derek felt mortified. He had not anticipated that to be a conversation ever. “It’s an alpha thing,” he managed. 

“But Scott’s an alpha,” Isaac said. “And his doesn’t do that.” 

“Are you fucking Scott?” Stiles screeched. “What?” 

Isaac leveled Stiles with a stare. “A – it’s none of your business. B – would it even matter? And C, just for the record, no, Scott’s not gay.” 

“I’m not either,” Stiles said as if that was an argument as to why they were talking about Scott’s dick while he was singing, clearly trying to stay far out of the conversation.

Isaac rolled his eyes and grabbed Scott’s arm, moving his hand from his ear. “I know you heard the conversation. Can you knot?”

“Can I not what?” 

Isaac closed his eyes, sighed, and looked very, very patient. “When you are with someone, you know, doing the deed. Do you knot them?” 

Erica made the same gesture Stiles had, just to underscore Isaac’s point. Help Scotts memory along the way, maybe? Hell if Derek knew.

Derek thought that even a monk would’ve gotten the point without her help. 

“No. ‘course not, that’s weird.” 

“Awesome,” Stiles corrected. “Not weird.”  

“Whatever, really, I don’t wanna know what you like up your ass,” Erica interrupted. “But Scott’s an alpha, so why can’t he?” 

Then all eyes were back on Derek. “Maybe it’s a born versus bitten?” he suggested. “I’m not sure. It’s not like I have anyone I can ask about it or like there’s a pamphlet with werewolf sex ed.” 

Erica gave him a look. 

He sighed. “I really don’t know.”

“But if you don’t have the answers, who am I supposed to ask?” she asked, grabbing another piece of pizza. 

He couldn’t answer that either. Instead he stuffed his face with pizza, trying to avoid the conversation continuing down the hole of his sexlife and dick abilities.

Mercifully Scott and Stiles started discussing the latest Fallout game, Boyd chiming in on occasion. Derek found himself looking at Stiles, enjoying the liveliness of how he spoke with his entire body, enthusiasm and passion oozing off the way he moved his arms, inclined his head. 

Erica and Isaac remained quiet, neither particularly passionate about Fallout. 

“Does anyone want to play Wii?” Isaac interrupted a heated discussion about skins. 

Erica looked like he was godsend. 

“We can make a Mario Cart tournament,” Isaac continued. 

That was how they all ended up on Derek’s couch and on the guest bed mattress on the floor. Erica against Scott, Isaac versus Stiles and Derek versus Boyd. Best from each round would compete against the other two winners, the losers would compete about being the less sucky loser. 

Erica took a narrow victory, much to Scott’s outraged yelling and complaining that she’d shown cleavage to distract him (she probably had, but Scott could’ve just looked at the screen like everyone else, who was way too used to the amount of boob she showed to care). 

Isaac won the first out of three games, Stiles the second. 

Derek didn’t look at the screen, too busy watching Stiles. He almost tipped onto the floor, driving the virtual car with his entire body. 

Isaac won. Narrowly. Stiles whined and complained. 

“Don’t be a sore loser,” Isaac told him, handing over his remote to Derek. Stiles huffed and handed his to Boyd. 

Derek was distracted through the first half round. Stiles was cheering him on. Too many of the words he chose to compliment Derek’s extremely bad driving were words he’d used in the bedroom and Derek had a very, very hard time not recalling what Stiles had done along with his ‘yes Derek’ ‘you’re doing well’. 

Derek didn’t win. 

Erica won the winners round. Isaac the losers. 

They chose Homecoming as the movie, mainly because Stiles hadn’t seen it and everyone agreed that they were more than happy to watch it with him. 

Derek got up to get them chips. When he returned everyone had moved, the only free space just beside Stiles.

He didn’t complain. It was close enough when Stiles dozed off, head on Derek’s shoulder. Isaac fell asleep half an hour later, using his other shoulder to sleep on. 

Erica absentmindedly ran her fingers through his hair like she always did. Boyds breathing evened out as the movie credits ran along the screen. 

“Another?” she asked, voice soft as to not disturb those who were already asleep. 

“Sure,” Derek said. 

Scott curled up on the couch with a yawn. It was a good thing he’d bought a big and comfortable one, Derek figured. It was perfect for packnights, especially with a mattress on the floor as well. 

Derek shifted, gently guided Stiles to lie down with his head in his lap instead. Isaac grumbled, snuggling closer. When he’d been without a pack this was what he’d missed the most. The closeness of others. The bond. Not feeling like he was all alone in the world. 

Erica kept running her fingers through his hair, petting him like he was a big and soft cat, until Scott’s even heart rhythm and breathing gave away that he too was asleep. 

“You are both such idiots,” she told him.

Derek didn’t need to ask what she meant. 

“He’s in love with you too, you know,” she stated as if it was that easy. As if Stiles felt more than just the need to get off with someone he found hot. “You’re both too stupid to see that.” 

He sighed. “What’s your point?” he asked. 

“You know what my point is.” 

He remained quiet. Her fingers stopped moving. 

“Just tell him how you feel.” 

“You heard him. He doesn’t feel that way about me,” Derek said, stubbornly. He pushed down the tentative feeling of hope. Erica was good at people in a way that he wasn’t. She had always been able to read situations faster and more accurately than he did. There was a reason she was his second. 

He swallowed. Deep down he hoped she was right. He didn’t believe it. The sex was great. He would take what he could get. 

“He says that to protect himself.” He could hear her rolling her eyes from the tone of voice. “He still doesn’t believe himself more than the insecure, hyperactive spaz of a teenager he once was.” 

Derek looked down at Stiles. That much was probably true, especially outside the bedroom. 

“I just don’t want to destroy what we have,” he said instead. Because that much was true. 

Erica poked the back of his head. “Dude, what have you got to lose? He’s leaving soon anyway, so you get to have distance to be awkward. Then when he returns, and believe it or not, but no matter what, he will return, you can talk again and properly decide what you want.” 

Derek didn’t answer. 

“You can always go back to being fuckbuddies,” Erica said. 

“Wouldn’t you feel awkward fucking someone whom you knew where in love with you if you didn’t feel the same?” 

Erica made a sound. 

Derek sighed. 

Boyd hummed in his sleep, deep and soft. 

“I’ll see what happens,” Derek said. “No meddling.” 

“I would never.” 

She would, though, and they both knew that. As if to apologize for upsetting him, her fingers moved closer to his scalp, massing softly until he felt boneless and like melted jelly against the couch. 

“Sleep, Derek.” 

He did, surrounded by the scent of pack and home and love. No matter what happened between Stiles and him, he would still have his pack. It would be okay.