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Human Contact

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Stiles heads for the bathroom as soon as they get through the door, comes back with damp towels that probably aren't clean but he uses them to clean away the worst of the dirt and blood that surrounds the wound in Derek's stomach anyway. "I think it's starting to heal," he says. "Thank god. I thought I was gonna throw up."

Derek pulls himself backwards onto the bed, tears away what's left of his shirt, tosses it in the direction of the towels Stiles dropped on the floor. "Are you okay?"

Stiles nods. "Bruises, nothing broken." He looks down at the blood that's soaked into his shirt, into the front of his pants. "This is all yours." He squirms, pulls the wet fabric away from his chest. "Eww." He peels it off, drops it onto the pile and squirms again. "Mind if I get mostly naked? This is gross."

Derek waves a hand at him. He's exhausted, all his reserves gone in their escape, too little left for healing. "Come here," he says, beckoning, then pats the bed beside him.

Stiles blinks. He looks ridiculous, standing at the foot of the bed in bloodstained boxer briefs, skin covered in red smears. "Err—?"

"It'll help me heal," Derek rasps. "I need physical contact. A werewolf would be better, but we don't have one of those right now. Just get up here, Stiles." He tugs at the button of his jeans, drags down the zipper, and that's about the extent of his energy reserves. "Help me get these off."

Stiles stares down at him for long seconds before he moves, leaning over the bed, grabbing hold of the waist of Derek's jeans and tugging. "You had to go commando, didn't you?" he says, averting his eyes as he drags them down over Derek's hips. "What, you couldn't take the extra few seconds to pull on a pair of shorts? Jesus."

Derek's jeans slip off his feet and fall to the floor. "I'm sorry my dick offends you. Get your ass up here and you won't have to look at it."

Stiles crawls up onto the bed and sits awkwardly on his heels at Derek's hip. "I'm not offended." He keeps his eyes carefully on Derek's face and his hands hang in the air, fists clenching. "So what do I do? Just kinda—?" He lays a palm on Derek's shoulder, and it's soothing, but not enough.

Derek grabs his arm at the elbow and pulls him down beside him. "Closer," he says as Stiles tries to keep air between them. "Need as much skin as possible, Stiles. Don't be a prude."

"I resent that," Stiles says, squirming in closer, joining their bodies from shoulder to knee. "I'll have you know I'm a complete pervert, I'd just rather not get my throat ripped out when my inappropriate boner stabs you in the hip."

Derek snorts and turns his head, looks up into Stiles' face, into his wide, sincere eyes. "This turns you on? Blood and running for our lives gets you hot?"

"Dude, I'm seventeen. Almost anything gets me hot." He glances down at the wound on Derek's belly. "That, however, does not." He swallows and looks back up at Derek's face. "Is this okay? Is it working?"

Stiles can't take the pain away, but the skin-to-skin contact helps. It calms Derek, stops him from using all his energy in the instinctive fight or flight response that his injury causes. "Yeah, just—" He takes Stiles' arm by the wrist, pulls it over his chest, then tips Stiles' head onto his shoulder so he can feel Stiles' breath on his skin. "Yeah. That's good."

"Good," Stiles says, and there's a high, nervous tone to his voice. His pulse is faster, his breathing labored. "You smell good. How is that possible? You should smell like sweat and dirt and blood but for some reason on you it just works. Is that a werewolf thing?"

"Maybe it's a you're-attracted-to-me thing, Stiles." He looks down, and Stiles blinks up at him. "It's okay. I'm flattered."

Stiles makes a 'pfft' noise. "Yeah, right, because that never happens to you."

Derek shrugs. "Not as much as you seem to think." He bends his head, just enough to shove his nose into Stiles' hair. He inhales, long and deep, filling his senses with teenage arousal and Stiles. "You smell good, too."

Stiles shivers. "Oh. Oh. So does that mean—"

"Maybe," Derek whispers. "Yeah, maybe."

"Holy shit." Stiles tips his head up, and their noses almost touch. "'Cause that never happens to me."

Derek surrenders to the impulse, brushing his lips over Stiles' mouth.

"Fuck," Stiles says. "Would it be inappropriate of me to spring a boner right now, because I honestly don't think there's any stopping it."

Derek smiles and shakes his head. He can feel hot pressure against his hip as Stiles gets hard. He glances down, notes the flesh of his stomach knitting together, and the fact that despite his wound not having fully healed yet, his cock is half-erect.

Stiles follows his gaze. "Whoa," he says, looking hungrily now. "Definitely not offended." His fingers on Derek's shoulder twitch, slide down over Derek's chest, and he looks back up. "Can I—?"

Derek's dick gets harder. "Yeah."

Derek forgets about the throbbing ache in his belly as Stiles wraps his hand around his dick and, with soft touches, slowly brings him to full erection.

"Oh god," Stiles says, as he starts to stroke for real. At the same time, his hips begin to move as he rubs his cock, through his briefs, against Derek's hip. "Your dick is so nice." His eyes are glued to his hand as it moves, but then he flicks his gaze back up to Derek. "Is it okay if I take my underwear off? I kinda want to—"

Derek kisses him, panting into Stiles' mouth. "Yeah. Do it."

"Okay," Stiles says. He shifts, laying Derek's cock on his belly where it leaves a sticky pool of precome, and gets to his knees, shoving his briefs down his thighs before tipping back onto his ass to wrestle them off his legs.

Derek is hit with an intensified wave of Stiles' arousal and his mouth waters. "Come here," he says, without thinking. "I wanna taste you."

Stiles freezes with his briefs still wrapped around one ankle. He looks up. "You what?"

Derek reaches out, takes hold of Stiles' hip and pulls. "Put your dick in my mouth, Stiles."

"Oh, oh, oh god," Stiles says, as he scrambles back up to his knees. He wraps his hand around his dick as he walks on his knees to the level of Derek's face. "Are you sure?" he says, even as he drags the tip of his cock over Derek's lower lip. "'Cause you're still healing."

Derek's tongue darts out and the flavor of Stiles explodes on his tongue. He grabs Stiles behind one knee, pulls it over, guiding him with the other hand on the opposite hip, pulls Stiles to straddle his throat. "Yes," he says, and then sucks Stiles' cock into his mouth.

Unbalanced, Stiles falls forward, catching himself on his hands on the wall behind the bed, but still shoving his cock right down deep into Derek's throat. Derek moans around it, even as he chokes and tears leak from his eyes.

"Sorry, fuck, sorry," Stiles says, gasping as he tries to pull back, but Derek holds him firm by the hips, pulls him in deeper. "Ungh, fuck, Derek. Jesus." One hand drops to Derek's head, fingers twisting into his hair, holding tight. "Can I...can I move? Do you want me to move?"

Derek moans, nods as much as he can—which isn't much—and tugs on Stiles' hips.

"Holy fuck. Okay." Stiles pulls back, just a little, pushes back in. "Oh, my god. This isn't going to last long. Just so you know." He does it again, pulling back further this time, thrusting in deeper, just a little faster. His other hand drops down to Derek's head, and he starts to pull Derek onto him even as he thrusts forward.

Derek sucks in air through his nose. His throat contracts around the head of Stiles' cock with every thrust, and his eyes water and burn, tears leaking down his temples. Stiles is young, but he's thick enough to fill Derek's mouth completely, to stretch his lips wide, long enough to fill his throat.

Stiles fucks Derek's mouth hard, and it's not long before his thrusts grow erratic and lose rhythm. "I'm gonna come in your mouth," he gasps. "Can I come in your mouth, Derek? I need to come in your mouth, fuck."

Derek moans and reaches for his own aching cock. He jerks it slow and steady, slicking the length with precome. His other hand slides around, a couple of fingers slipping into the crack of Stiles' ass. He rubs over Stiles' hole with two fingers, pressing, but not penetrating. A fresh flood of precome hits the back of his tongue, and he slips a fingertip slicked with sweat into Stiles' ass.

"Fuck," Stiles spits, and jabs his cock hard into the back of Derek's throat. Derek's throat fills with hot come as it pumps out of Stiles' dick, the shaft pulsing with every spurt. Derek slides his finger deep into Stiles' body, feeling it clench around him in little spasms.

"Oh, holy crap," Stiles breathes as he shudders with aftershocks. He pulls back a little, his cock slides out of Derek's mouth, but he doesn't seem to mind the finger in his ass. He pushes back on it, fucks himself on it once. "You okay?" he asks, looking down with a concerned expression on his face.

Derek licks his lips, smiles. "Yeah. You want another?" He presses another finger to Stiles' rim alongside the one already inside.

Stiles' eyes widen and he pushes back. "Yeah. Please. You got any lube? I can take three with lube." He gives Derek a sheepish grin. "That I know of. I can't reach to see if I can take four."

Derek moans, his body arching as he imagines Stiles fingering himself while he jerks off. "Under the pillow."

Stiles' eyes widen, but he slips his hand underneath and pulls out the tube.

Stiles slicks Derek's offered fingers, then presses back as Derek pushes two into him. "Fuck, yeah." He looks back over his shoulder. "You're almost healed up," he says. "That's awesome. Do you wanna fuck me?"

Derek groans as precome oozes onto his belly and he imagines how it would feel. Stiles would be tight, Derek's ninety-nine percent sure he's a virgin. "Yeah," he breathes, but then locks his eyes to Stiles' face. "Is that what you want? Or do you just think that's what I want?"

Stiles leans back, reaches behind him, wrapping long fingers around Derek's dick and giving it a clumsy stroke. "I know you want it," he grins. "I do, too. It's okay, I get that this is a no-strings situation, you don't have to worry I'm gonna get clingy or anything."

Derek hadn't considered that at all. "Okay," he says, and then pushes a third finger into Stiles' ass.

Stiles moans and shivers. His mouth falls open and he breathes hard. "Fuck. Your fingers are thicker than mine."

"My dick's even bigger, Stiles." He slowly thrusts with three fingers, feeling Stiles relax and adjust around them. "You sure about this?"

Stiles nods. He grabs his dick, which is hardening up again nicely. "Just take it slow." He looks behind him again. "I'm gonna ride you, okay? You just relax and I'll take my time, go at my own pace."

Derek can't wait to get inside him, to watch Stiles' face as his cock slowly stretches and fills him. "Sounds good. You want a fourth, or are you good to go?"

Stiles seems to think about it for a moment, as his hand squeezes Derek's dick. "Nah, I'm good." He fucks himself down on Derek's fingers a few times, then lifts himself free of them, crawling carefully backward over Derek's body to straddle his hips. He looks down, traces his fingers over what is now just a jagged scar on Derek's belly. "Jesus. It'll be gone by the time we're done, won't it?"

"You're assuming I'm going to last that long," Derek breathes, barely resisting the urge to thrust upward, to find Stiles' hole and fill it. "Stiles."

Stiles grins. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright. He grabs the lube, gets Derek's dick wet, then braces himself with one hand on Derek's hip as he pushes down on it with slow pressure.

The moment the head of Derek's cock breaches Stiles' hole the room becomes thick with sound. Derek groans loud at the tight heat, Stiles lets out a high pitched whimper. His eyes are wide, his mouth hangs open. "Fuck," he gasps. "Fuckfuckfuck, Derek."

Derek holds Stiles by the hips, rubs soothing circles with his thumbs. "You're okay," he breathes. "You can stop any time."

Stiles nods, breathless. "Yeah," he says, but then pushes down again, taking Derek another inch inside. "Oh, my god."

Derek's grip on Stiles' hips tightens. He forces himself to support Stiles' weight, to take the pressure off his shaking legs, but all he wants to do is pull him down, to thrust up into Stiles' body. "Feels good, Stiles," he says. "Fuck, you feel so good."

Stiles nods, eyes wide and locked onto Derek's face. He doesn't say anything, and Derek never thought Stiles would be lost for words, but Derek knows from experience the intensity of taking a cock in your ass for the first time. Stiles pushes himself up, just enough that Derek can feel the head of his cock catch at Stiles' rim, and then he pushes down again, further this time, letting out a low, guttural moan.

"Good boy," Derek breathes. "Little bit at a time."

Stiles' heart beat kicks up a notch. "Fuck," he gasps, more of a breath than a word, and he lifts himself again, drops back down further. He does it again and again, nice and slow, until finally he's sitting in Derek's lap.

Derek's all the way inside. It's so hot, so tight he can barely think. His eyes track the length of Stiles' body, all pale skin over lean muscle. His thighs shake and he gets his knees under him, starts to rock his hips and moan. His cock is hard again, jutting out from his body, the tip leaking precome.

He moves his hips slowly, but with purpose. His hands, previously pressing against Derek's belly to hold himself up, start to wander, brushing lightly over the rapidly healing scar, making Derek shiver as they sweep over his nipples, finally gripping Derek's shoulders. He rocks his hips again, slow and sinuous, and he bends his head. "Scott told me something," he breathes, warmth washing over Derek's throat. "About your dick."

Derek freezes, then puts a hand on Stiles' chest, pushes him back enough to see his face. "What would Scott know about my dick?"

"Werewolf dicks," Stiles clarifies. A slow grin spreads over his face. "A thing they can do."

Derek's eyes roll back, and he can't help thrusting up into the grip Stiles' body has on him. "No," he says. "I'm not knotting you." There's nothing Derek would like more than to lock himself inside Stiles' body, to claim him, to keep him close, but Stiles is too tight, too fucking new. "Not your first time." He holds Stiles' hips and rolls his pelvis, going deep.

"Are we gonna do this again?"

Derek thinks about how easy this is with Stiles, how willingly he let himself go. It wasn't the injury—no, partly it was. He trusts Stiles. Time and again Stiles has proven he'll risk his own life to protect Derek's, and for someone who's trusted the wrong people in the past, Stiles is good. Stiles is good for him. "Yeah," he says. "I wanna do this again." Derek's hands tighten on Stiles' hips, guiding his movements, and then he pushes Stiles up, holds him there as he thrusts upward. "This is good, Stiles." He punctuates each word with a thrust. "You're so fucking good."

Stiles' hand wraps around his cock, starts to stroke. He starts slow, but quickly speeds up to match the pace of Derek's thrusts. "Gonna come on you," he moans, his mouth slack, his eyes rolling back in his head.

Derek's balls tighten up, tension shoots up his spine. "Do it," he says, arching up, pounding up into Stiles hard and fast. "I'm gonna fucking fill you, Stiles, god. You're so— Fuck."

Stiles throws his head back. His ass clenches down on Derek's cock, tightens up hard as he starts to come. The first spurt streaks up Derek's chest, splatters hitting his throat and cheek.

Derek darts his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, catches a single drop. The taste of Stiles fills his mind, and with another two quick, graceless jerks into Stiles' body he starts to come.

The intensity of his orgasm takes him by surprise, fusing his spine and curling his toes and wrenching a groan from his throat that seems to come from very far away.

As the shocks fade he feels Stiles collapse onto his chest. Stiles is shaking, and it takes a moment for Derek to realize he's laughing, breathless and smiling against Derek's shoulder.

Derek turns his head, nudges Stiles with his cheek. "Good?" he asks.

Stiles closes his eyes, a blissful expression on his face. "So good."

Stiles' eyes fly open when Derek kisses him, clumsy and awkward. Derek wraps his arms around Stiles, rolling them so he's on top, and then he kisses him properly, like he should have back at the beginning, deep and completely, only pulling away when Stiles pushes at his chest.

Stiles lies beneath him, flushed and gasping for air. His skin is smeared with come and dried blood. Beneath the mess, he's flushed and blotchy. His pupils are blown wide open, and his lips are puffy and red. He's beautiful.

"Stay," Derek says. "Stay here tonight."

Stiles' face splits into a grin. "Yeah?" he says, and then nods. "Yeah. I think I will."