Everyone knows incubi are only dangerous to humans.
They have a very different reputation with the rest of the supernatural world.
"Oh god, give me some of that," Jackson murmurs under his breath, watching the incubus' shoulders lift and tighten defensively, mouth setting in a grim line. He can hear them clear across the diner.
Derek stares, shocked.
He knows the stories, used to eyeroll Peter when he slurred out incubus sex jokes to the pack when he had a little too much spiked whiskey to drink.
The incubus pays and makes his way down the narrow walkway between the diner tables with his to-go bag and all the wolves track him avidly. He's just about to pass them when he pauses, turns angrily to Derek and spits "Get a hold of your pack of wild dogs, Alpha."
Derek doesn't get a chance to respond, just swivels in his seat with Boyd as the Incubus stalks away.
They're all a little dumbfounded after, the blood drained from their heads to fill their cocks. They eat in silence, dazed.
"You're so lucky," Erica pouts later, sighing on the floor where she's supposed to be doing more sit-ups.
Derek reaches over with his sneakered foot and nudges her. Then he goes back to weight-lifting.
After the next rep, he sits up and wipes off his forehead on his towel, takes a pull off his water bottle.
Erica is still just lazing there, hand on her belly, sighing.
"Come on, Erica. Just three more," he says gently, trying to be supportive.
"You know, incubi only go for alphas, right?" she says, tilting her head back to glower at him. "If anyone is putting that sweetheart down and mounting him, it's you."
Derek swallows and looks away, frowning.
It's been years since he had sex with someone, he's not sure what to think about breaking his dry spell to nail an incubus into the ground.
He's minding his own business at the pharmacy, trying to remember which brand of tampons Erica uses when he looks up and the incubus is just standing there at the end of the aisle, looking at him like a deer in headlights.
Derek looks back with the same face.
"Stiles, they have socks over here. Do you think they're any good?" an older man muses, wandering around the corner and joining them. The incubus, Stiles, looks at the man and says "Dad--"
"Is this a friend of yours?" the icubus' dad asks, looking serious, taking in the tension between them.
"Uh," Stiles says. "He's uh--"
"Derek Hale," Derek makes himself say. He stuffs the box of tampons under his arm and steps forward to offer the incubus' father his hand. "We know each other through friends."
"John," the man says. Then "Sheriff John Stilinski," with a firm handshake.
"Sir," Derek agrees and then he can't stop his eyes from trailing back to the man's son, who is all pink-cheeked, just looking at Derek. There's an awkward pause, too long, and then Stiles' dad says "Well, lets head out, kiddo. I got work in twenty. Nice to meet you, son."
"Yes, you too," Derek says quickly, watches as the man walks off, trailing Stiles behind him, who keeps looking hastily over his shoulder at Derek, eyes wide.
"Shit," Derek says, turning into the tampon display to readjust himself.
He sighs all lovelorn in the parking lot, puts his stuff into the trunk and then just as he climbs behind the wheel, his passenger door is thrown open and the incubus is scrambling in, across the seats and into his lap.
"Oh god," Derek breathes and meets the Incubus' eager, tongue-slick kiss.
He gets his hair fisted, pulled around, his mouth devoured. His cock teased, gyrated all over. He's drunk on the pheromones when the kid pulls away. Derek's pupils are so blown his eyesight is blurry.
"What--?" he gasps and the incubus whines "you were so nice to my dad. Who does that?? Who are you? Oh god, I'm going to make you cream so hard you'll pass out. I'm going to eat you alive."
Derek's fangs drop as he arches for it, eyebrows collapsed together in neediness. He needs to get inside him, needs to knot his incubus ass up tight.
"Shit, shit. Oh my god, I need you. Please. Please--" the incubus begs, tearing at Derek's fly, belt.
"Yeah, you need a big, alpha cock?--" Derek groans, head so dizzy with lust he can barely think straight, then he whines in confusion as the incubus freezes, pulls back.
"W-what?" Derek pants, looking down at himself, how he's straining his underwear through his spread fly.
"Ugh, you...you fucking alpha asshole! Every fucking time--" the incubus grumbles and is out the door before Derek can do anything to stop him.
He just drops his head back in the seat and aches for a long time, hands opening and closing on nothing.
He's almost over it, just barely over it when the kid shows up at his loft one night in the rain, looking exhausted and pale, hands fisted in frustration.
"I need you," he grinds out, jaw tightening like he hates to admit it.
Derek is at a loss.
"I'm starving," the kid admits miserably, sniffing a little and Derek can't tell if he's crying or if it's the rain on his face. "You can do whatever you want, just feed me."
He ends up taking the kid in his arms, holding him close with one wrapped firmly around him while he strokes him off with his free hand. The kid is hot and silky to the touch, his nipples sweet and plump in his mouth as he sucks them. Stiles makes all these trilling noises, strange and happy to Derek's ears.
When the incubus gets close, he starts spurting precome teasingly all over Derek's moving fist. He smells so good, Derek drops his forehead to the kid's chest and stares down, eyes hot on that cherry-red cockhead peeking in and out of his hand. He wants it in his mouth so much his throat is sore with it. But he resists, goes back to feeding himself on those soft little nipples.
When Stiles comes, Derek almost comes too, just from the scent of his pleasure hitting him. They tremble together and then Derek lifts his hand, stares longingly at the thick, shiny web of come on his knuckles.
Stiles takes pity on him, wraps his lush-wet mouth on his fingers and sucks them clean one by one, knowing that if Derek got a taste of his pheromone-rich come, he'd frenzy. His eyes are all heavy-lidded on him while he does it, fed and content.
"Thanks," Stiles mumbles, falling asleep on Derek's shoulder while Derek holds his blushy body like something sacred.
In the morning, he wakes up to find his loft still and silent, the incubus long gone. His hands still smell like Stiles though, so he snuffles into them and whines for a while, pathetic with loneliness.
He's got an arrow in his side and he's dying, maybe. His breathing is wet with the blood in his lungs. He turns his head to the side and there's Stiles, suddenly growling over him, angry.
"Shit, shit! What the--" one of the hunter's says, tipping over his chair. And then he's screaming. Derek closes his eyes to it.
"Give him to me," Stiles says, his incubus voice burning in their ears. The compulsion is irresistible, the hunter with the beard gets down on his knees beside Derek, breathing a mess, and unlocks the chains around his wrists, ankles.
"Come on," Stiles keeps whispering as he shuffles them out the door. He's so upset, Derek wants to comfort him, but he's dying. "Don't die, you fucking asshole. Oh god, please."
Derek slips into some kind of healing coma in the car, as soon as the arrow is jerked out of him.
He wakes and gets a moment to take a long look at the kid, who is sitting at his bedside, biting his nails nervously and looking off at the wall.
He's long-limbed and lithe, with crazy, messy hair and pretty, pretty eyes.
Derek sighs and the kid snaps into motion, calling "Oh god, he's awake. HE'S AWAKE!"
His betas are on him in seconds, Erica practically climbing on top of him. Boyd presses their foreheads together and breathes while Derek chuckles dryly, then coughs.
"Your pet saved you," Erica says, ear to his heart and Derek looks across the room at the incubus who blushes, looking horrified.
He doesn't get a chance to say anything, just watches helplessly as the kid slouches away.
He's surprised when the human he saves from the Werecat turns out to be Sheriff Stilinski, a little cat-scratched but no worse for wear. He'd heard a human heartbeat in its den and hadn't expected to be carrying Stiles' dad to safety while the man grit out "I was on a blind date an she turned into that. What the hell was that?!"
"Werecat," Derek huffs, dragging him down the side of the mountain.
"Fuck," the Sheriff curses, "my ankle's all twisted. Did you say a WERECAT?"
"Yes," Derek groans, lifting the man bodily over some rocks.
"Right. Werecats. Well. That sounds like the forest services' problem."
It makes Derek laugh a little, which makes the Sheriff laugh a little too.
They come tripping down the mountain, laughing like idiots.
After, Stiles climbs him like a tree, locks his ankles behind his back.
Derek reels and slams into Stiles' bedroom wall, gasping.
"You saved my dad, oh my god. I...get in my bed. Get in my fucking bed. I'm going to use your dick until it breaks--"
Derek sits down hard in the kid's bed, groans "Sometimes the shit you say isn't actually that sexy."
Stiles whimpers at his ear, reaches between them into his own pants and then pulls his hand free, fingers wetted with his precome.
"Yeah?" he breathes at Derek. "You want sexy?" And then he slicks his come-sweet fingers across Derek's panting mouth, which makes the wolf crazy.
He buries the kid under him, smothers him deep into the mattress with his weight, growling.
Everything is sleek, beautiful skin and heat, the edges of his vision all fuzzy as the pheromones turn the air thick and humid. The kid is so plush and tight for Derek's ramming cock, so sweet on his mouth, under his teeth.
He holds himself up with his hands to the kid's upper back, pinning him. Watches his cock own that cute little ass, knock in and in and in. He follows the snaking line of the kid's spine as it twists and lengthens with each railing thrust. Watches sweat run down there, coursing from the kid's hair. He puts his parted mouth over those sharp shoulder blades, eating up the salt he finds there, tasting every part of him. Delicious. His little incubus is delicious
"Don't get scared," Stiles whispers to him and at first Derek doesn't understand and then it starts to build. It builds low and strange-feeling in his body, in his ass, in his slapping balls, in his perineum. Something cruel and almost beyond good, beyond pleasure. It burns and grows into something sinister, overwhelming. He pops claws and whines helplessly at the feeling, uncertain.
The incubus slams his head back into Derek's shoulder, neck arching, begging "Oh please, it's ok. It's ok! Oh god, just let it happen. Please. Fuck please, Derek. Just...let it come--"
Derek doesn't resist it, though it feels like it's going to blow him apart. He goes into it with his eyes screwed shut, his dick forced deep in the kid's sweet little ass, knot starting to shudder and thicken.
"Oh fuck," he seethes through his clenched fangs.
It's quiet for a second before the storm of it, just the sound of Stiles' beating little hummingbird of a heart. And then Derek's body just wrenches with it, rocketing into the black, the most powerful feeling he's ever experienced, orgasm like a bomb going off inside his hot, clenching gut.
The incubus laughs gleefully, voice hitching slightly as Derek knots him good and tight.
He's kitten-weak after, just sprawls there, drained while Stiles smiles drowsily over him and ducks down to clean him up with his tongue.
His cock is stiff and poking high when Stiles gets down to it, which makes the incubus sigh and take it gratefully into his mouth.
Derek can only tremble under his ministrations, face glazing over.
"Mmmmmnnn," the incubus moans like he's just tasted something exquisite, eyes going thin and hot as Derek splashes his palate with come.
In which there is angst, confusion, werecat blind dates, voyeuristic betas, crackfic tropes and love words.
He blames his lack of awareness on being blissed-out and oversexed and starving. His sleepy-head is all fuzzy inside as he wanders down to the Stilinski kitchen, pours himself a glass of orange juice and starts gulping it down.
"Just make yourself comfortable," comes a voice from right behind him, mid-swallow.
Orange juice comes out of his nose as he chokes and coughs it up into the sink.
He turns around and Stiles' dad, the Sheriff, is sitting at the kitchen table with a bunch of folders spread out, looking up at him over some reading glasses with a frown.
"Sir--" Derek starts.
"You're gonna sir me while you're walking around my house, drinking all my orange juice in your underwear?" the man says critically, snapping a folder closed. "Are you serious, son?"
Derek looks down at his bare chest, startled. Orange juice drips through the hair there.
"Yeah, you forgot to put your pants on," the Sheriff says.
There is a sound of feet thumping down the stairs and the Sheriff smirks, looks back down at his work with a "you're in for it now."
Stiles explodes into the room with a pale look on his face, takes one look at Derek and shrieks "OH MY GOD, WHAT ARE YOU DOINGGGG?! WHERE ARE YOUR CLOTHES?? OH MY GOD, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?"
Derek's eyes widen and he hightails it back upstairs with Stiles shouting after him "--MY DAD DIDN'T NEED TO SEE THAT."
Thoroughly chastened, he tries to walk out the front door before Stiles grabs his arm, snarling, and drags him to breakfast.
"You will sit and you will eat and be polite," Stiles hisses in his ear and forces him into a seat.
Derek can barely make eye contact with the kid's father, who has no problem setting his work aside, taking off his glasses and staring at him.
"Oh come on, you're acting like a guilty dog," the man finally says when Stiles sits down and passes out some cereal bowls.
Derek makes himself look up.
"So you're the kid's new alpha," the man wonders, eyes sharp and discerning. "Hm."
"Oh god, stop," Stiles mutters, "Dad. Don't."
"I'm just happy things didn't get like San Francisco--" his dad says and Stiles groans, slumping deep into his chair.
"Did he tell you about San Francisco?" the man asks and Derek looks back and forth between them, unsure of how to answer. Both their eyes are on him, Stiles just daring him and his father impatiently waiting for an answer.
"...no?" Derek tries.
"Ugh!" Stiles throws his hands up in the air.
"I knew it," the Sheriff says. "You promised me you'd tell every new alpha--"
"He's not my new alpha! He's just an alpha! An alpha. Maybe it was just the one time! There's a few other alphas in the area, dad. Maybe I'm not claiming one until I see what's available--"
Derek takes it like a knife to the chest, visibly flinches before he can stop himself.
"What?" he says faintly.
Stiles rolls his eyes at both of them. "Ugh, we just met! Dad, guys. Come on, maybe an incubus should keep his options open."
Derek pushes out of his chair, stumbles out of the room.
"Wait," Stiles follows behind him, trying to catch his arm. "That's not--Don't overreact!"
"Overreact?" Derek says at the front door, seething through his dropped fangs.
Stiles' eyes widen.
"Never come to me again," he growls and makes himself leaves. It hurts. Hurts to leave, but he's not sticking around to listen to Stiles talk about letting other alphas knot him. He's not going to do that.
He climbs into bed with Erica and Boyd, who groan as he nuzzles into the tiny space between them, forces it wider for himself.
"Talk later," Erica mumbles in her sleep, drops a hand on his hip, heavy and reassuring.
Boyd grumbles in annoyance but takes his arm up and pulls it to his bare chest, slips back to sleep with Derek hugged to him.
"So what was with the puppy-pile?" Erica asks, yawning as Derek brings them coffee in bed to make up for it.
Derek settles at their feet and sighs, shoulders sagging.
"Stiles, he's going to try other alphas," he says.
"Were you that bad?" Boyd asks, eyebrow raised.
"No. I don't think so?" Derek is confused. He has no idea. Maybe he was terrible. Maybe when he passed out last night, Stiles was still hungry and just lay there, unfulfilled. It makes his chest ache. "I thought it was good."
"Oh baby," Erica says and he drifts onto his back with his head in her lap, lets her play with his hair.
He closes his eyes and lets her fingernails soothe him, listens to them murmuring together above him, sometimes pausing to kiss softly.
In spite of himself, it makes him feel comforted.
He goes back to his mundane life assuming he's a terrible disappointment to incubi. It's not the first time somebody told him he was bad at sex.
He might not try for a third time. He's not sure. He's got the pack, a good job and there's a place on the highway that sells the best homemade mint chocolate chip ice cream he's ever had. Maybe that will be enough.
"You smell like ice cream," Isaac whispers to him in the dark, settling into his arms for the night. They've been taking turns.
"The place off the highway," Derek tells him, scentmarking his nape and sighing. "I went after work."
"You always smell like ice cream," Isaac clutches his arm around him tighter.
"I know," Derek mumbles.
The first time he sees Stiles is three weeks later, walking across the parking lot from the picnic tables at the ice cream place.
Derek pauses and stares at him. Stiles jolts when he notices him, waves sheepishly, says "H-hey. Heyyyyy."
The incubus is plump and pink, all flushed and fed. Derek crushes his key ring in his hand.
"--Derek," the kid starts but Derek climbs right back into his car and peels out.
He hits his hand on the steering wheel in frustration.
Now he can't even go to the ice cream place.
His life is falling apart.
He fixes broken machinery, usually just feels his way through it, referring to a lot of blueprints and instruction manuals and then using his brute strength to force shit when he can't figure out anything else.
He's at the paper mill outside of Eureka when a beta from the local pack bends down and says "You get a piece of that tight incubus ass that's down your way?"
He almost wolfs out, has to pause under the machine and take deep, harsh breaths to center himself. The beta makes whining, worried sounds.
"Don't talk about him like that!" he growls.
"Ok," the beta agrees. "I had no idea you were mates."
Derek pulls himself out, wipes his hands off on his shirt. He can't think anymore, can't finish. Just stares at the machine for a long while before he packs up his tools.
"Wait, are you done??" the beta asks, confused.
"We're not mates," he mutters and stalks off the floor, back to the front gate.
"You don't go to work, you don't leave the house--" Erica lists.
"--you don't even go to that stupid ice cream place," Jackson says, making a face.
"I'm unhappy," Derek mumbles into the couch cushion. He'd been lazing away the day, watching the ID channel before Erica came in, grabbed the remote and turned the tv off.
"I know sweetheart," Erica says, sitting on his ass. Derek grunts in annoyance as he takes her weight but doesn't try to get up. Just lets her sit on him.
"Derek, you should probably get out there and uh--" Boyd tries, considering how he wants to say it.
"Get fucking laid," Jackson finishes harshly.
"No," Derek says, turning his head away. "No more sex."
Erica rubs his back and shushes him. "You broke your dry spell and now you just cut yourself off all over again. Maybe...maybe you need--?"
"No," Derek complains. "Never again."
"What about just a date? Like. Just...a little date with a nice single lady. Person. Humanoid person. Werecat. I asked the werecat and she said yes to tomorrow night," Isaac says tentatively.
"Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Derek groans, covering his ears.
Erica bounces on his ass, trying to jar his hands.
The werecat seems nice, even though she sometimes kidnaps available bachelors and drags them up to her den to make kittens. She's wearing a pretty summer dress and talking avidly about her social work when he looks up from his plate at Stiles glaring at him murderously from outside the restaurant window.
He drops his fork.
Stiles is going off, cheeks crimson with his anger, eyes bright and burning. The werecat, Diane, pauses too and stares.
"Boy, he's upset," she says.
Stiles slaps his palms on the glass once and then starts stalking away, towards the restaurant doors. Derek quickly wipes his mouth off on a napkin, says "I'm so sorry about this."
"You asshole," Stiles' Incubi voice slams through everyone in the restaurant, makes a few diners cry out and cover their ears.
"Oh boy," Diane says to herself as Derek jumps up and rushes to stop Stiles from revealing any more of his powers.
"You're on a date, A DATE!" Stiles shouts as Derek tries to cover his mouth with his palm.
He gets bit, right in the meat of his thumb, yelps and then tries to hush the incubus with his face to Stiles' temple as he guides him out the door.
In the parking lot, he lets Stiles slam his fists into his chest. Stands there taking it with a grim look on his face, until Stiles tires and bursts into frustrated tears.
"I thought you didn't want me," Derek growls low under his breath, catching the kid's scrawny wrists.
"No, you asshole. You never even let me apologize. I was just trying to rile my dad because he was getting all nosy. You didn't even wait to hear me out."
"I saw you...you've been feeding," Derek says. "Someone's been feeding you."
Stiles lets out a short, angry scream, hits him again. "My. Friend. Does. It," Stiles grits out. "He wasn't going to let me starve! You know what we do? He lets me sit in the room with him while he beats off and then he lets me eat the come off his hand. AND I HATE IT SO MUCH, IT'S RUINING OUR FRIENDSHIP, BUT HEY. IT'S BETTER THAN DYING!"
He's a panting, emotional mess after, face gone all pale and tired, too drained to keep working himself up.
Derek touches his cheek carefully, slowly so Stiles can pull away if he wants. Then takes Stiles' face in his palms and puts their foreheads together.
"Stiles," Derek purrs helplessly in his chest.
Stiles sniffles, rubs the tips of their noses together. "I never went that far with an alpha before you. They were always big, dumb jerks who thought I was just a horny thing to get off in. I never let them have me."
Derek closes his eyes in bliss,tingling everywhere. He loves this. He loves to hear Stiles say that.
Clever incubus hands crawl up his shoulders, wrap around him. Tug him in.
"Be with me," Stiles whispers. "No one else. Not that beta in there."
"Werecat," Derek corrects, their lips brushing together. Stiles' breath is all pheromone-sweet. It makes Derek's heart race.
"Werecat," Stiles agrees. Then "WERECAT??"
Derek frowns as he's shoved back.
"Are you seriously telling me you were on a fucking date with the werecat who kidnapped my dad?"
Derek's mouth falls open but he doesn't really know what to say.
"Oh my god," Stiles hisses, pulling at his hair.
In the car, Stiles finally sighs. "We're going to ignore the werecat thing."
"Yes," Derek says, relieved.
"We're going to ignore that and the San Francisco thing. I'm not ready to talk about past, shitty, abusive relationships--"
Derek lets out a little, self-conscious laugh. "Well, when you're ready to talk about San Francisco, I'll tell you the story about my ex-girlfriend who tried to kill my whole family and burn my house down."
Stiles stares at him. Streetlights pass, flashing on their faces for brief moments. Derek can see that the kid is broken open, all bared to him.
"I don't care about San Francisco," Derek growls, reaching over to grab the kid's hot nape and squeeze it. "I won't judge you for that. I care about you."
"Yeah, wow. I kinda need to orgasm on your knot soon, so drive faster, kay?" Stiles tells him, voice cracking.
Derek gasps, claws nipping Stiles' nape before he drags his hand away, wrenches at the steering wheel tight and steps on the gas.
The pack all pause what they're doing as Derek slams in with Stiles half-dressed, writhing in his arms. His long, incubus legs are locked behind his back once more.
"Oh, yes," Erica whines, watching as Stiles attacks his mouth, tongue-fucks it sloppy and gaping while Derek looks frantically at her from the corner of his eyes.
"We can go," Isaac says awkwardly while Erica hushes him and Jackson growls "No fucking way."
Stiles pops off his mouth, a length of spit shared between their wet lips. "No, let them stay. It'll be so much better. So much--" And then he goes back to wrecking Derek's mouth.
Derek moans, cinches him up tighter, hands firm, stumbles with him towards the bedroom.
He tries to kick the door closed but Stiles fists his hair, growls "Open. I want it open. Let them smell it, taste it. I want them to see you--"
Derek lands on Stiles in the bed, sweating in the heat of Stiles' pheromones, his words.
Stiles knees him, knocks their mouths apart again, groans "I want to be on my hands and knees. Mount me like that. Let them see what happens when I give myself to you."
Derek turns him over roughly like he asked, then sobs softly into Stiles' shoulder, so turned on his knot is already a sore muscle under his fly, all tender and hypersensitive.
"God, mate me. Mate me--" Stiles begs, begs the whole time Derek is shakily opening him, the whole time Derek is whining helplessly to get inside, feeling his pack's silence, how they're all tuned in, listening intently.
He almost blacks out just from sinking inside him. Has to rest his hot cheek against Stiles' nape and heave in air. He opens dazed eyes to see Erica right in the doorway, always so bold, his beta, watching them with her hand deep in her jeans, teeth in her lip.
Derek stares at her blearily and his hips pump twice, all instinctive flex, to mate, to feel good.
Stiles is the sweetest place he's ever lived. He turns his fangs and puts them into the incubus' nape, holding while the endless growl rolls through his chest, while his hips start pistoning rhythmically, one screw after another, slow and then quicker, impatient.
The incubus is all blurry, wanton heat and hunger around him, around the frantic stab of his cock. The force of that hunger makes Derek grit his teeth, makes him feel like Stiles could suction the come right out of his balls. Stiles can't stay still, can't stop snapping his hips up to meet him. Can't stop arching and thriving on it, devouring the pleasure Derek is fucking into him. He's feeding at Derek's cock with the mouthy squeeze of his asshole, starving for more.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck," Jackson swears somewhere behind them. Derek breaks out in a sweat, buries his face into the feather-soft, ticklish hairs at Stiles' nape, whines.
His hips are a machine now, brutal paced and sharp, his ass pitting so tightly with every thrust, it's starting to burn. Stiles claws at his hands on the bed, then knits their fingers together, holds on.
"They're going to see how hard I make you come, Derek. Want them to see what it looks like when an incubus makes their alpha so hot--"
Derek feels it rise on him like the last time, the promise of it building like a slow explosion, making him whimper endlessly in pain, in anxiety.
"There it is," Stiles croons. "Let it happen. Oh god, it's going to be huge. So much bigger than last time."
Derek claws up the bed to hold on, shivering all over, hips still trying to hunch into it though it's a useless movement, his knot already starting to tie them.
"Can't," his wolf says, in pain. The feeling is so big now, every muscle in his body is starting to lock, bear down against it in defense.
"You can. Oh my god. You can. Derek, oh god, it feels so good. Feed me, please. Fuck, please, feed me--"
Derek face twists up as it storms, thunders through him, slamming a pained sob out of his chest. He goes into another place for a while, just waves of terrible pleasure crashing over him and tossing him deep in it.
"Breathe. Breathe," Stiles is begging when he comes back, so he takes a deep, shaky breath, nostrils flaring, pheromones burning his lungs.
He's delirious then, rubbing his beard into warm skin and making hurt sounds, knot wrenched around and tugged as Stiles orgasms long and thorough, as Stiles reaches back to cling to his trembling thigh.
He passes out, fades as Stiles grumbles about heavy alphas smothering him.
He comes back to consciousness to the sound of Stiles chattering away.
He tries to lift his head but can't, only realizes a moment later that Stiles is talking to Erica. Who is in bed with them.
Derek whines under his breath, tries to get closer to Stiles, cover him.
"Stop, it's fine. We're just having a puppy pile. There's a blanket between us."
When Derek can finally move, he heaves up onto the pillow and frowns at his betas, all curled up around them, soaking in their alpha's contentedness.
Stiles looks at him and snorts, uses Derek's stomach as a pillow. "You can't look mad with bedhead like that, it's ridiculous."
Derek's frown deepens as he pats his hair down self-consciously.
Isaac reaches up idly to help, gets his hand slapped away.
"Your betas were just telling me about your ice cream addiction. That's probably a better outlet for you than werecats," Stiles says, smiles sweetly up at him.
Derek rolls his eyes and starts tenderly putting Stiles' mussed hair back in place too while the kid preens, listens to Erica talk shit about Derek's unhappy month alone.