It takes months for Stiles to work up the courage to take off his underwear with Derek – not because he doesn’t want to, because Lord, does he ever. No, he knows that Derek knows about him, but he also knows that this thing between the two of them isn’t something he wants to screw up by going too fast.
Stiles isn’t blind to the looks Derek gets when they go out, whether it’s to the store or the movies, or even that art gallery when they made that trip to Berkeley to look for apartments with the pack. Derek wasn’t the most expressive person in the world but when you’ve known each other for nearly six years and saved each other’s lives at least a couple hundred times, you learn the ins and outs of their facial cues.
The little ways Stiles reads Derek, for instance. He can see his shoulders hunching up before he forces them to relax that time that blond woman in the mall tells him what pretty eyes he has and smiles teasingly at him before Stiles comes over and slings an arm around his waist. He can feel the way Derek holds himself stiff until Stiles leans into him, shooting the woman an innocent smile and asking if Derek wants to shop some before the movie starts because there's a new bookstore upstairs that he wants to check out. They aren't together at that point, though Stiles will realise later that the easy way he lends his protection is something that becomes increasingly natural as time goes on.
Derek explains later that he's always had an odd pull towards Stiles, though he insists it isn't necessarily sexual. It's more of a feeling of safety, which just about breaks Stiles' composure when Derek tells him, because of course he's a safe place, he'd tear the world apart for the people he loves. It's not the first time he's included Derek in that group, but it's the first time he admits it's more serious than he's been telling himself. Instead he just gives his friend a hug that they both cling to long enough he feels chilled when they let go.
And for Stiles, well, it's not that Derek was his introduction to liking men, given the givens, but it was the first time he entertains the possibility of a real relationship beyond the physical. In fact, once he realises how Derek feels about people looking at him, Stiles begins to wonder if Derek might not be somewhere sideways on the spectrum instead of the assumed straight, gay, or bi. Over the course of their animosity, reluctant teamwork, gradual friendship, all the way up to their first tentative kiss, Stiles manages to pin Derek down as somewhere close to demi-sexual. It makes a sad kind of sense to him, how the only two people he's ever known Derek to be with had both manipulated him into it, had both forced themselves onto him - albeit in different ways. Derek hasn't trusted anyone else, besides his pack of course, enough to form a real attraction since Paige, back before he really knew what attraction was .
So Stiles takes it slow. So slow. So incredibly, careful, sweetly slow that the physical side becomes , well not unimportant , but less pressing. There are three dates before they slip into easy kisses, another five before Stiles invites Derek over to have dinner with his Dad. Of course they already know each other but they wait until both of them are sure dating's a good idea for their relationship before telling his Dad about it officially. It's all very domestic, very normal despite Stiles being a witch and Derek being a werewolf and Stiles not being what most people expect from either a man or a witch.
And it's good. Them together is so good, so easy, like it was always going to happen and they were only waiting for the right time. They're sarcastic and Stiles is an asshole but then so is Derek and they read each other so clearly now that it takes no effort to just be together. The pack takes a while to realise that anything's changed, though Stiles laughs and laughs until he starts to choke when he sees Scott hand a crisp fifty over to Cora one day after the pack walks in on them necking like a couple of fifteen-year-old kids in the kitchen. Being the one who actually lives with one of them you would think they would know better than to bet against her.
Something that's both comforting and sad is knowing that Derek completely understands about Stiles' body belonging to Stiles. It's frustrating sometimes, he admits, to his wolf, to see Stiles in danger, or hurting, or even being aggressively flirted with, and having to pull up short, though he never falls into his animal instinct to stake a claim unless Stiles asks him to. Derek is almost painfully cautious at first, apologising for the smallest bruise, the tiniest hickey, and it takes months for him to be reassured that Stiles really doesn't mind .
The first time Stiles meets Derek gaze across a dance floor and he sees that thin, frozen veneer of human patience over the wolf's possessive outrage at the man with his hand on Stiles' arm, he won't lie, he gets a little hot. It's that and the little dancing smile Stiles quirks at him that give Derek the go ahead, his nose flaring as he catches the scent of musk under the stink of sweat and stale booze.
Stiles remembers the irritation on the guys face and how quickly it turned to fear, remembers how it made his neck hot to have Derek press himself up against his back, no room for Jesus between his ass and Derek's cock where it pressed against him through layers of clothes. He's not sure what Derek's face looked like, though he could picture it from other times in less normal situations, but the sensation of the strong heart beating against his back, the ruffle of Derek's breath over his collarbone and down into the top of his shirt made him suppress a shudder. He can't remember much else, the hand curling over his throat and gently petting his jaw, the dark, mixed colour of Derek's eyes as the Alpha in him trickled around the edges in little wavering lines of crimson when their eyes met over Stiles' shoulder. It makes his stomach tighten and he presses back, leaning his weight against the broad chest, his open face and trusting body making the red throb faintly in Derek's eyes.
They probably would have been swept away by the moment into...well maybe not intercourse in the true meaning of the word, but definitely something more than they'd been doing, if Isaac hadn't called to report that he'd gotten an email from the coven that was scheduling time to meet with Stiles about a potential apprenticeship. They had shared a wry grin, one last hot kiss to soothe the lust, and gotten out of there with Stiles laughing to himself about the guy's expression when he recalls it in the car.
It takes nearly nine months for them to really talk about sex. Not because they aren't interested, but because they both have more invested in the relationship than a quick fuck.
They talk about all that too, and it feels good to talk to someone besides Scott and his Dad about it; he’s told Lydia and the rest of the pack probably knew the first time he smelled like blood but they don’t talk about it. It isn’t avoided, but they tend not to dwell, which is it's own kind of soothing sometimes.
Now though Stiles feels they’ve passed some kind of intangible milestone after having it all out on the table and talking about it a few more times over the last few months. He’s ready, Derek’s ready, but they decide not to plan it too much. They probably won’t be going all the way tonight but it’s already a little nerve-wracking without that pressure so Stiles is glad for it. He’s not a virgin, but he’s never had sex with someone he loves before, either. He’d found a couple of guys who he trusted not to gossip and had a regular night with one of them for a few weeks until the guy went back home with his parents after summer was over. It was nice, nothing special but nothing bad.
He been a little sore but had knocked back a couple Advil and taken it easy until his body quit complaining. Then he’d done what he does best and researched before splurging a bit and ordering some supplies for his newly ‘broken-in’ self.
So he’s not a virgin, but he wants to do this right and he’s a bit sweaty at the thought of him and Derek - gettin’ down to business, his fluttery mind offers, a little hysterically. It takes a searing shower and a little bit of Stiles Time before he feels loose enough that he no longer fears he’ll panic and postpone the night.
They have pizza for dinner, laying on the couch to watch Dexter while they eat. Eventually the show changes and they get distracted by each other. Soon enough Stiles is situated across Derek's lap, not straddling but side-sadle and pressed close to kiss. Stiles laughs and tells Derek he likes this dessert even more than the brownies they had and hums at the growl the wolf presses into his throat. Derek noses up behind his ear and sucks a spot there until Stiles is squirming, moving down and teething at the underneath of his jaw to leave little bruises behind.
“Derek, I swear to God,” Stiles chokes on a gasp when he feels a hot hand holding his thigh, moving up from where it’s been holding his knee.
“Yes?” The word is drawn out and Derek’s hand is massaging his inner leg, tickling the in-seam and clamping down firmly when Stiles tries to rub his thighs together. He worms a hand in between them and spreads his fingers out as a buffer to stop the friction, laughing when Stiles curses at him. Derek has his face mashed against the witch’s jugular, his wolf dazed with the pleasure of having his mate flushed and in his lap so sweet and trusting. The man’s wiggling slightly but he’s edging into Derek, not away, and he groans so roughly his voice cracks when the wolf presses his teeth quellingly to his adam’s apple, sucking at the skin until Derek can smell the wetness in his jeans. He goes still though and the Alpha in Derek’s blood thrills at it, creeping his fingers down to brush against the crease where his hip meets his thigh.
He presses there, savouring the thick scent of slick and the way Stiles is whining but holding so still, so good and perfect Derek’s gasping with it into the fresh mark on the pale throat.
“So good for me, my sweet boy,” he finally croaks, and he can feel the hard judder of Stiles’ legs as they resist squeezing together. Derek can feel himself too, pressing against the seat of his boyfriend’s jeans, hard and just starting to get wet with the scent of Stiles in his head. Tightening his holding he pulls Stiles down to grind against the underside of his thigh, growling when the man sighs out and murmurs something under his breath. Sliding his other hand up Stiles’ side he rubs at his back, sliding his palm to spread his scent over the small of his spine and up his far side, tilting his head to mouth lightly at his mate’s shoulder and collarbone.
His other hand finally dips inward, dancing with a tickle over the hot press between his twitching thighs. Derek can smell the damp cotton under the jeans and groans a bit when his fingers run over the curve and find a hint of wet in the denim too. His love is so wet for him, his wolf purrs in his head like an engine. When he says it out loud Stiles growls and bucks into his hand, grinding down on him when he comes back down so that Derek grips him over his mound and tugs him closer, relishing the twitching moan and the second and third bounce in his lap as he digs his fingers in and massages the wet spot.
“Derek – fuck, okay, so we gotta move this to the bedroom,” he squirms and whines when Derek’s slow to let go, rubbing at the nice handful he’s got and nipping at the side of that nice milky throat. He slips his two middle fingers down and presses up at the underside of the hot damp fabric so he gets that huffing moan all precious and pleading in his hair when Stiles turns his head to pant at him, “Please, God Derek – fucking Christ. Please let’s go to bed.”
Cutting of the start of the ramble Derek takes his hand away and nearly lets his fangs drop at the whine of loss but instead hooks his arm under Stiles’ legs and lifts him. He can hear Stiles muttering into his neck about how he kind of feels weird for liking being manhandled and he runs a hand up Derek’s chest over his shirt and laughs to Derek about how he can’t believe he would be nervous because of course it’s them and how could they do anything but work together amazingly? Derek chuckles at that and noses at Stiles’s hair, dropping a few little kisses that the witch hums at and presses against like a touch-starved cat, rubbing against the wolf’s front and sighing happily.
And just like that Derek’s back on track, shouldering the door open and pulling a crumpled pair of jeans off the bed before setting Stiles down and crawling up after him. He wants to take his jeans off but he doesn’t want to rush this so he keeps them on, tracing the lines of Stiles’ legs until he’s settled over him, kissing his face and lips until they’re puffy and Stiles is grinning at him.
“You like me,” he sings teasingly, running a palm over Derek’s jaw and tangling his fingers in the short beard he’s admitted to liking, leaning up to peck at Derek’s nose, “Sourwolf likes me.”
Laughing a little Derek starts to hum in reply and moves south, mouthing along Stiles’ throat and pausing to admire where he’s marked already. Tickling his tongue at the dip of clavicle he nibbles a bit and trails his fingertips up under the hem of the hoodie Stiles is wearing. He’s always gotten cold easy and usually points out that it works out well because they would sweat into puddles if they both ran as hot as Derek does. Stiles trembles at the touch and snorts, wiggling when Derek grins and digs his fingers into his side, laughing and shouting, “God, you fucking dick! Unfair, no stop – Derek!”
When they calm back down Stiles’ shirt is rucked up and he pulls the hoodie off in a flail that has Derek avoiding his elbow, his face flushed and happy. Plopping his face down onto Stiles’ belly he leaves a line of kisses across it and noses at his bellybutton, nipping at the crease where his stomach starts the slope down towards his crotch, changing to open-mouthed smacks at his waistline and nibbling at the trail of hair until it’s damp with spit and bristles at his cheek.
Little laughs have given way to low sighs and breathy moans, Derek looking up every few minutes to watch Stiles watch him, his pupils grown until his eyes are tiny golden rings around thick black discs. Derek can feel his throat tightening when Stiles gives him a soft smile and one of those crooning sighs, reaching up to run a hand over Derek’s head and scritch through his hair with delicate movements. He moves his body under the wolf’s face but only to get closer, humming when he’s given a warm hand splayed over his belly to hold onto, Derek giving him hot eyes as he finally moves further down to snuffle at the crease where thigh meets hip.
His other hand is busy massaging over one of the man’s long legs, digging into his calf and working its way upwards. He meets it when he shifts south, gripping Stiles’ hip and pressing his mouth just above the centre where he can still smell slick and heat. He’s known since he came in that Stiles had masturbated earlier but he’d been raised right and said nothing. Now though it’s harder to ignore, the stale satisfaction here between his mate’s legs is driving the wolf a little mad, his brain filling up with images and questions. He decides suddenly that he has to see it - not now, because his man is for him right now, being so good and sweet in his arms - but maybe next time. God just the thought of it makes him inhale so hard he sees black spots for a second.
Derek keeps quiet about it for now though, groaning roughly when he breathes through his mouth and tastes Stiles slick scent at the back of his throat like sugar and coffee and something like gingerbread. There are other twists to the scent, some of them bitter and dark but all of them just as necessary to Derek’s wolf as the next breath of air. It takes a moment for him to recover and he realises his fangs have dropped, pressing at his lips and making him click his teeth together. Stiles moans when he feels the press of fang and Derek's suddenly flooded by the smell of a fresh burst of slick under his face and he can’t help it, nosing down and pulling Stiles’ legs apart to rub his cheek lovingly over the wet spot.
Stiles grins with his face flushed, "Well aren't you forward, Mr. Hale?"
Derek laughs and laves a bit at the damp denim, latching on when the taste hits him and sucking hard. Stiles moans low in his chest, arching and digging his hips at Derek’s face. With a growl the wolf pushes him back down and sucks harder, sniffing and squeezing the hip in his hand and angling his face so he can nip at the hot press of cunt under the jeans.
“Off,” Stiles’ voice breaks and he wriggles, pushing at his jeans before Derek can move, flailing and fighting to get free as Derek leans up to help, tugging the soaked pants off and tossing them before he registers what he’s looking at and freezes.
Stiles wears boxer-briefs, he knows. They’ve discussed this before, have speculated tentatively about why he didn’t just wear women’s underwear. He knows Stiles has nothing against panties, but they’re harder to take care of in their line of ‘work’ and the briefs cover him better since he doesn’t feel like announcing to the world that he has a cunt if his pants somehow get ripped or torn off.
So the little red panties are the flash of prey in his mind's eye, a surprise and offer of vulnerability that draws goose flesh over the skin of his neck as his wolf's hackles bristle in excitement. He runs his fingertips along the hem and down the side, trailing over the pale inside of Stiles’ leg possessively even as the witch watches him and grins.
“Ta-da,” he offers, letting his legs fall open a bit wider. Derek is in awe, watching the red move over his skin and seeing the little curls of dark hair peeking out from the sides like a tease. He reaches up to pull Stiles’ shirt off too, yanking his own off in a daze, his eyes cutting back to that pretty red mound. His mouth is actually watering and he edges down, staring at the stain of wet cotton clinging to his boyfriend's crotch. Stiles’ huffs and moans when he sees Derek lick his lips, breathing a tiny, “Oh Jesus Christ, you’re gonna kill me.”
Humming, Derek leans close and pushes one leg out with his palm, digging his fingers into that flushed skin and squeezing. A waft of slick scent comes battering at his senses and suddenly his mouth is there against the soaked crotch, just breathing as his lips seal around the blotch. Stiles trills high in his throat and curses, rambling quietly under his breath. Normally Derek would be listening but now he’s got the taste of Stiles’ cunt on the roof of his mouth, so thick and sweet he wants to just rip the panties off and nose down between those slick lips and ruin this man. So he’s staying very still, the blood rushing in his ears as his fangs toy with the panties.
Finally he trusts himself again and slowly peels the underwear down, watching and hearing the cotton sucking slightly at Stiles’ skin as it comes away soaked through in the crotch and smelling of Stiles' moist insides. He presses his face to the panties, eyes locking with Stiles' as he sucks at the fabric and growls. Stiles looks like someone's just hit him over the head, dazed and silent as he watches like he's holding his breath. Derek takes this moment to go back up quickly and give Stiles a kiss, pushing the little tastes of salty, sweet slick he could get into the man’s mouth and swallowing down his choked moans. On his way back down he gets distracted by the way Stiles’ nipples have drawn tight and pebbled, poking up him like a fucking provocation and so pale pink he can’t help it. Taking his time and rubbing his fingers over the very top of the mound down below, going nowhere near the actual centre and toying with the hair, he kisses first one and then the other nipple.
Another few pecks and then he licks at one, mouthing at the skin around it before latching on and softly sucking. Stiles is gasping, trying to press up at him with the whites of his eyes showing around those golden rings. Grinning around his mouthful Derek goes tighter, pulling with his tongue until the nipple and quite a bit of the skin are almost in his mouth, framing the grip with the flat edges of his fangs and tugging harder. Nibbling has an electric effect and he experiments with tiny soft kitten licks until he has Stiles dry sobbing and writhing.
His mate's mouth never stops though, spitting praises and pleading and curses without seeming to pause for breath. Most of them even Derek would have to focus to hear but some of them break though, little gasps of his name and a cuss word here and there. It’s making his wolf preen and he’s got the nipple red and puffed up so he’s happy with it before moving over to the next and laughing in the face of Stiles’ death threats.
Once he’s got both looking like they should he moves one hand up and his head down, tickling at the nipples while he noses at the trail of hair. Following it down he finds so much raw slick he wants to bathe in it, smeared over Stiles’ thighs where he was rubbing them together and flattening a lot of the curly hair so his mound was damp and flushed pink.
Bringing both hands down he pushes the witch’s legs apart so he’s properly showing everything, the stretch pulling open the lips a bit so he can see. Stiles shudders out a moan, bucking his crotch up at Derek’s face with a pleading sound.
“So pretty for me, sweetheart. I’m glad we waited,” Derek croons at him to help him focus, “but I’m jealous of your fingers. I can smell you there, you know. I can smell your cunt all over your hand where you came earlier. Can I taste you?”
Stiles looks like he would genuinely slaughter Derek if he didn’t, so it’s mostly for his own sake but Stiles grits out, “Please, shit. Please Derek. I – I – ”
Derek moves when he’s not paying attention, the sentence ending on a wail when he sucks at where the clit has pushed it’s hood up and is standing at attention. He presses Stiles’ hips down and slurps his tongue down at the hole to lap at the stream of slick bubbling there, going back to nip gently at the clit, the flat of his fangs pressing close and forcing him to be careful. He can feel his ears getting tight as they shift and his claws are prickling at his fingertips but he doesn’t move; Stiles has liked that for as long as he can remember and he trusts him to say something if that changes.
As it is he only gets a fresh gush of wet slipping down his chin and slicking up his throat and cheeks when he forces Stiles back to the bed with unnatural strength and firmness. He can hear him babbling but Derek is having trouble paying much attention with the sweet pussy in his face getting redder and puffier as his beard chafes at it, taunting and tempting even as he tugs the lips apart to lick into the winking hole. Stiles groans, vibrating under him as the wolf laps and slurps and sucks down as much slick as he can swallow, nursing at the cunt for more and flattening his tongue to push inside. It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to simply remember he has fingers, much less use them.
Dipping a hand through the mess of cunt wet he adjusts and carefully retracting his claws before pushing one in under his tongue. The bone-rattling growl he gets in viscerally satisfying and makes his wolf answer in kind, the hum of his lips giving him a nice arch of Stiles’ back as he tries to ride Derek’s face, humping against the hand holding him still as his chest heaves.
“Oh shit,” he warbles, a hand digging at Derek’s scalp and snapping him out of his fever, “Oh god, oh fuck, Derek.”
Pushing in another finger Derek pumps carefully until he’s got wet dripping down his palm before he starts to push harder, flattening a hand just above Stiles’ crotch he starts to massage his love’s inner wall even as his grinds his tongue against the straining clit. He can feel his cock sticky and wet in his underwear where he’s dripping so much his groin is probably soaked through, his hips moving in a mindless motion against the bed – they have been for a while but it’s less important than the experience of eating Stiles out for the first time so he’s ignoring it. Honestly if his mate keeps pumping out such beautiful sounds he’d be fine with just not getting taken care of – it’s better than a quick orgasm, this writhing body in his arms begging at him to ‘never stop, please god, shit Derek, never stop, oh fuck’.
It’s the third finger that pushes it all over the edge, the three of them cupping up against the top of Stiles’ insides to find that spongey spot and mercilessly rub at it, pinching it in between his fingers and nibbling on the little clit in his mouth until Stiles breaks with a sobbing shout, hips jerking and hands tearing at Derek’s shoulders, nails raking over the back of his neck as he growls into his mouthful. The cunt seizes up, muscles spasming until Derek can barely move his fingers, gently stroking the spot until Stiles starts whining and tears run down his flushed, beet red face.
“Holy fucking shit, Derek, oh my god,” he pants as the fingers are slowly pulled free and Derek sucks them clean, eyeing the delightfully wrecked cunt and broad swathes of beard burn and the clit still quivering, the hood struggling to cover up what he’s made so puffy and sensitive. The little twitches of the hole draw his gaze and he noses down to suck in a deep breath and lap very gently at the soaked rim. Stiles takes a few moments recovering, whining at him about being sensitive, before he realizes Derek has yet to come. Then he's pulling at him until Derek gives up and rises to plant a dirty kiss against his throat while Stiles tries to manoeuvre into his jeans.
When he helps to pulls them down Stiles gives a croon at how the strands of pre-come string out between his cock and the boxers, the cotton soaked and hot where he’s been rubbing them against the bed. His head is floaty and dazed as Stiles takes him in hand with a wet palm from his own slick – and god does that thought do something to Derek – to run his fingers softly around the frenulum. He cups the head and presses the foreskin down to toy at the slit gently, pressing harder as another bead of come slips out.
Derek’s got his head pressed tight to Stiles’ chest and neck, huffing out little gasps, his beard and throat wet and tacky, marked with his mate’s slick and his wolf is hot embers of satisfaction low and deep in his gut. He could take or leave an orgasm by this point but Stiles is exploring and he’ll probably get one if he lets him continue so he just enjoys the feeling of hands on his cock. He listens to Stiles’ pulse as the man reaches down to cup and massage his balls, tickling the space behind them because he does his research and knows what’s supposed to feel good even if he doesn’t have one himself. Getting a sighing moan from that he presses harder and strokes up to play again with the foreskin, slipping it up and down, wriggling a wet finger in to play with the head underneath. He dips the tip of his finger into the slit and wiggles it a little, the other hand massaging his perineum and dipping down to twist at the fine thin hair around his hole. Kissing the side of Derek's head Stiles whispers how good he looks, how sweet his wolf is. He tells Derek how pleased he is, how happy and proud he is as he toys with the now leaking slit until Derek’s hips are jerking in little mindless cants and the wolf is giving an open-mouthed groan into Stiles' neck as he comes across Stiles' belly and hips.
Being the little shit that he is of course Stiles immediately bends to rub it through both the mess on his pelvis and his own sticky, somewhat sore lips, bringing his hand up to shove into Derek’s face. The werewolf growls helplessly and sucks them clean, and then the other hand when he does it again. It’s so tempting to press Stiles down and clean him until he makes another mess but his mind is going fuzzy and in the end he only slings a leg over Stiles’, wrapping his arms around him as he starts to doze. They’ll probably regret it later but he just can’t be bothered to move yet.
After a few failed attempts at getting up to clean them both Stiles relents and relaxes back, curling up not long after as sleep takes him.
Needless to say, there’s not much waiting after that. Sure there’s a few blow jobs and hand jobs and one memorable time on a back road during spring break when they’re back in Beacon Hills visiting with Stiles being eaten out on the hood of the Camaro before Derek slips in and fucks his thighs. The point is, it only takes a few more months until they’re having actual sex, like penetrative sex, Stiles’ mind supplies from somewhere giggly, and god they do it a lot after that.
Scott complains whenever he visits their apartment almost six months later that there isn’t anywhere to sit that doesn’t have sex stink on it. Derek gives him judgey-brows for Stiles and asks if he really wants to go there.
Scott leaves it alone and sits on the floor, not even hesitating at being offered a seat on the couch.
After Stiles’ first year they decide on a bigger apartment, Derek moving in full time now that Scott’s closer to home to share the duties of the pack. As Derek’s second he can look out for the territory while Derek makes trips back every three weeks to make sure the whole place hasn’t been run into the ground.
But that first night in the new apartment, that night gets put in the mental scrapbook that Stiles may or may not keep as possibly the hottest he's ever had.
It starts with dinner, progresses to dessert, then to…second dessert, as he’s gotten in the habit of calling it in his head and only sometimes outloud. Derek always looks at him like he’s lucky he’s a cute dork when he does but he remembers that first night they had sex fondly, alright?
It isn’t until they reach the bed that it starts to get filthy, because Derek? Derek’s a talker, and Stiles goes pretty admirably quiet when his mate starts talking, especially in bed.
For instance, when Derek out of the blue starts talking about how he likes when Stiles doesn’t shave?
Stiles makes an embarrassed noise through his nose and presses the side of his face into the pillow.
“Hey, don’t.” Derek says softly, kissing him on his stomach that earns a twitch from Stiles’ leg. “Want you you to watch.”
Stiles turns his head back and gazes down at Derek, his face open and soft in the low light. It’s better here—the scent of his slick, musky and tinged with the salty sweet bite of sweat and it makes Derek want to cram his face in between those pale thighs and breathe until he passes out from lack of oxygen.
Derek inches his legs apart so that he’s got enough space to slide in between and then hooks his arms around his thighs, pressing his cheek against the soft fleshiness of them. Then he dips his head down and presses a kiss just right center of Stiles’ cunt, earning him a wet gasp.
When he latches onto the clit the taste of Stiles’s pussy hits him headily—savoury and thick on his tongue and he mouths harder, licking at his labia before he teases down, gathering the moisture at his entrance and licking into it.
“Fuck, you taste heavenly. Sweet little cunt.” Derek tells and he sounds so fucking wrecked. His hips started making subconscious humping against the mattress, the building pressure already too high for him to still them. “Could eat you out for hours.”
“You’re so good to me, please yes,” Stiles moans and hisses and the words sound slurred, high-pitched, like his voice kind of does whenever he’s almost there with an orgasm.
Derek groans when he feels a fresh ooze of pre-come leaking against the sheets, making the rough jerks of his hips a slick, easy glide and then he dives back into Stiles’ pussy, eats him out with heavy pants. He uses one hand to spread Stiles’ lips apart, and flattens his tongue against the velvet hot folds, slurping and nibbling when he can’t go deeper, burrowing his face down and running his finger further in so it’s pressing against Stiles’ asshole, just barely pressing harder so the tip of it pops in and out and he feels Stiles clench on his tongue.
“Fuck—fuck me, Derek. God, oh shit.” Stiles pleads and he sounds almost delirious, his legs wrapping around Derek’s shoulders as best he can, heels digging in to press him closer.
He spears inside and curls his tongue to taste all he can, growling and purring as Stiles’ hands scrabble at his head, tugging him tighter in and trying to grind at his tongue with his cunt. The finger digs in and starts to pump gently and he growls again to the sound of Stiles’ dark groan, his hips driving at Derek’s face with a desperate fervour the wolf approves of. He doesn’t hold him flat, riding the movements instead with glee, his other hand coming up to pinch and rub at the little stiff clit, his belly warming in smug pleasure when he hears Stiles howl.
“Sing for me, baby, dance on my fingers, come on.”
Stiles takes one finger, then another in his ass, Derek’s thumb coming up to sink into the sopping cunt and rub the wall between them in a pinched grip. Another few minutes of this and Derek pulls out, plunging three fingers into the red pussy and beginning to pump them with a quick rhythm, not giving Stiles time to adjust before he’s back sucking hard on his clit. In no time the slick is making a shlrup, shlrup, shlrup sound and Derek pounds his fingers through the messy cunt, nipping at the puffed up clit so that Stiles is sobbing and nearly trying to crawl off the bed with his humps.
The wire snaps as Derek growls, “Come on, show me , show me what a pretty little slut you can be. Come on, sweetheart, here I’ll pinch that itchy little clit for you.” He twists it as best he can in the slippery slide of jerking hips, tugging on it until Stiles is screaming through an orgasm, trying to drop down and sit on his hand. The muscles and skin of his thighs quiver as his walls snap tight in his pleasure, trying to milk Derek's fingers as he groans deep in his chest.
Derek fists himself at the base of his cock and holds in the orgasm that’s suddenly right there, biting at his gut. He lines the plump head up against Stiles’ winking hole between his folds, rubs small circles at his clit until Stiles whines at him. He gathers slick by quickly grinding up and rutting against the hot, wet slide before inching in, head catching on Stiles’ clit. The constriction is so tight when he presses down that his foreskin peels back and his slit rubs over the taut place around Stiles’ hole. Derek watches, the thumb of his free hand holding one of Stiles’ pussy lips open so he can see where the very tip of his cock is playing with the soaked cunt.
“Fuck. Oh fuck—” Stiles chokes as the head presses harder and pops inside for a moment before Derek is withdrawing and fucking up right at his clit before starting all over again until there’s so much of the man’s wet that it’s shining down his crack and Derek can’t resist running a finger down to press lightly at his asshole. The choked whine makes him grit his teeth and he gives the pucker another little caress before going back to tease at the hood of Stiles’ clit, rubbing it like he would his foreskin. Stiles’ feet kick against the bed in shocked little jerks every time he strokes up, muscles spasming until the wolf has to hold him down, digging a palm into his pelvis. Derek grins, messing with the fascinating, grasping hole while Stiles groans broken words, thrusting his hips like a slut as he tries to take it deeper. Trying to get Derek inside him and stop teasing his stretched skin, the hood of his clit peeled back as the nub strains out from his cunt in a pleading way.
Derek’s still gripping himself tight as he slowly sinks into Stiles a little further before pulling out so he’s rubbing the bottom of his cockhead against the twitching hood again. Then he finally lines up, watching Stiles’ face with a dark gaze. Once he realises Stiles has his eyes shut he smirks and grips down tighter. He doesn't give any warning before he plunges deep, a rough smack sounding as he meet the fleshy part of Stiles' ass and thighs, lifting those slim hips right off the bed. A wail claws up out of Stiles’ throat and flinching muscles swallow him so greedily, like a furnace—tight and creamy and velvet soft as it envelops his cock like a glove.
His cock throbs painfully when he’s balls deep in Stiles and he expels the lungful of breath he’s been holding, hovering above Stiles without stopping his tiny grinding movements for a couple of seconds until the tension that’s coiling tight in his abdomen loosens and spreads, relaxing his balls from where they’d been drawing up.
“So—so full, Derek. Your cock—can feel it in my stomach, oh my god,” the man chokes, grunting as Derek shoves his legs a bit further apart and presses close, putting a knee under his butt and making the angle better. Stiles is in his lap now, pelvis flush up against Derek's stomach, smearing his wet across the skin there, his clit just barely touching the wolf as Derek shifts into position. The curve his wolf has with his cock is making his head drag heavy and hard in glancing blows over the roof of his cunt, drawing little punched-out catches in his breathing as they start to move.
Derek slowly slides out, choking at the way his cock squelches obscenely before he sharply thrusts it back in, a loud moan being punched out from Stiles, hands scrabbling onto his shoulders. He slams his mouth onto Stiles’, swallowing a moan into him as he starts to slowly fuck him, dragging out achingly as he nips at the witch’s throat to let him feel the movement. He rests on his elbows and snakes his arms up to grip the back of Stiles’ neck, starting to bring him down with hard smacks into the cradle of Derek's pelvis, letting his cock sit for a beat in that clutch before retreating and taking a moment for another sucking bite and then punching his cock back in.
It takes a few minutes until he’s satisfied with the ring of bruising bites, leisurely ignoring the way Stiles claws at him to speed up until he’s ready. Once he is, though, he inches a hand down and starts to rub at the man’s clit, fingers sticky and wet with until he’s gotten a concise momentum going, pressing hard and pinching a little before withdrawing. He lets his thumb nail scrape and flick at the sensitive nub, growling at the tight ripples of muscle that encourages. The squeeze lets him feel every little bump as he angles upwards, his fingers pressing the straining clit down until he’s slamming past it on each thrust with his cock, rubbing almost cruelly against it as it turns cherry red and starts to quiver. It takes only a few hard thrusts into the tugging heat before Derek’s finally ready to increase speed, doing it without warning and earning a punched-out gasp.
Stiles’ teeth start chattering, his hips jerking with little hiccuping whines being fucked from his lips whenever Derek presses against that spongy spot inside him. His voice climbs higher as Derek leans down to mouth at his nipples, not really latching on but laving at them both in turns with little twists of his tongue, nipping a little just to hear Stiles whine .
Then Derek lets his fingers trail down, one hand keeping Stiles still with one rough hand against his pelvis and clit, making sure not to let up the sweet, almost-painful pressure. His other hand goes to where they’re connected, slipping hot fingers through the mess of pussy slick and pre-come coating everything until his fingertips are tracing around Stiles’ stretched hole, the edges fluttering hungrily when he slows a little and rears back to watch his cock plow into that grasping heat.
A wordless groan of complaint and nails sinking into his arm are shushed as he prods the tight pussy, pressing steadily until his finger pops in beside his cock and he starts thrusting again. The clench and sharp wail Stiles gives him drags a growl from Derek’s chest, enjoying the quaking thighs that cradle his hips and the feeling of low stomach muscles spasming and jumping under the hand holding that soaked little clit against his blurring cock.
He’s so out of it after getting into a rhythm that he doesn’t even realize that Stiles is screaming his name until he feels the silk walls clamping around his cock, seizing with each convulsion. The man’s back is taut, arched and jerking, his throat a convulsing line as he lets loose a fierce yowl of pleasure, sucking in quick breaths when he collapses back to the bed and realises his fucking isn’t stopping any time soon. His head thrashes as his clit is still rubbed by the driving cock, crying out with several low, groaning, ‘Oh, oh, ohs’ dragged out from his gut and letting his hips jerk under the squeezing hand on his pelvis as it pulls another, smaller orgasm from him, drool running down his cheek and up into his hairline as he undulates wildly.
Derek clenches his eyes shut, thrusting his cock deeply and slowly into that sweet, writhing pussy until he masters the urge to come, letting up on the shaking clit and beet red hood but not stopping his grinding. Stiles is babbling now, not really with him as the finger riding with his cock is joined by another, taking advantage of the sloppy clenching after Stiles’ orgasms.
Bending down, Derek mutters filth into the man’s cheek, dragging his nose over the flushed skin wet with sweat and tears now that he’s getting overstimulated, “Think I can make you squirt, Stiles? I bet I could, when you're so sweet and strung out on my cock. You’re so gorgeous, baby, all cherry red and dripping wet. Beautiful like this, all messy for me honey. Just listen to the noises you make around my cock while I fuck you.”
It’s quiet for a moment save for Stiles’ burbling cries as his pussy squelches loudly, sloshing with slick and so much pre-come both their thighs are slipping and sliding. Then Derek’s sitting on his heels and dragging those shaking hips up farther, back into his lap and shoving his cock in deep, grinding in slow circles and moving so he’s got one hand clenched on Stiles’ hip, the other with two fingers lining his cock as he plunges deep, letting them move so they’re prodding at the spongy, soft place.
“You take my cock so well, Stiles, god. You're always so good for me, knew you would be so pretty and tight on my lap. Such a greedy little cunt – I bet I could work one of your toys in too, that little vibrator, maybe? Press it tight next to my cock and make sure it’s buzzing away, shoved so deep you can feel your stomach shaking. There we go,” he murmurs as Stiles sobs out a hard, shaking dry shiver, maybe a micro-orgasm, maybe just because of Derek's words, "Is that nice, sweetheart? Is it stretching you good - I can feel you sucking me in, like a hungry little mouth down here. Aww, there's another one. Come on, you can take another, can't you baby?"
Every hard pump pushes the fingers harder up until Derek’s just rambling and listening to a wet choking sound. He looks up to see Stiles watching the fat cock and now three fingers bury themselves into his red cunt in dazed disbelief. His insides seize suddenly like a vice, his stomach jumping into a hard clench and his eyes widening before rolling back in his head, hips thrusting to meet each of Derek’s hard as he shrieks, arms jerking as he nearly yanks the sheet off the bed. Ignoring the faint sound of threads popping, Derek takes a second to reach down and pinch viciously at the again straining, shivering clit, twisting a little in the slippery wet until he has to let go because Stiles is moving too much and the searing flood of slick almost pushes him out, making him fuck back in hard to stay in through the waves.
Guttural, rasping sobs of begging are all Derek hears before he loses it, making his blood pound under his skin and his nails bite into the bouncing ass he has in the palm. He’s dragging the meat of Stiles’ ass up to meet punishing movements and he has a kind of animalistic glee in knowing Stiles will have bruises later where he’s gripping him now. His hand-prints will be spread from the curve and dip at the top to the inside of his cheeks, rubbing dark finger bruises all the way to the edge of his asshole. Stiles will feel him every time he sits down or moves much at all for the next few days and Derek growls breathlessly at the plump, honey-sweet way the thought sits in his chest.
The gush of heat and spurting slick spills over Derek’s fingers and then streams out from behind his cock, drenching his whole lap and hand up to his wrist. The greedy contractions around his cock and the possessive, prideful thought of Stiles' wearing his hand-prints finally push him over the edge. Derek takes his fingers out to grab wetly at both of Stiles’ ankles, bending him and plowing down three, four times until he curls around the still violently quaking body with a dark growl, teeth grabbing carefully at the soft sides of the legs he’s pulled up by his head, Stiles bent almost in half where his pussy is flush against Derek’s hips.
He squeezes the undersides of the man’s ankles as their thighs shake, pressed as far as he can and coming down to place sloppy pecks against Stiles’ forehead. His hips are still jerking as he empties out and huffs little moans out against the sweaty hair plastered over the forehead under him. It goes on for so long that Stiles starts to leak more tears, not sure if he can come again or if Derek plans to make him try, but eventually they slow to a stop and Stiles can suck in deep lungfuls of the hot, musty air that's filled the room.
Derek’s gasping wetly into Stiles’ throat as his hands loosen enough to not bruise, humming and trying to even out his heart that’s still racing in his chest. He’s massaging the tensed feet and ankles lazily when he feels fingers sliding into his damp hair, all smooth with sweat and feels the soft, slurred presses of lips against his forehead in turn. He unfolds them and presses tiny kisses to Stiles’ calves, then to his collarbone and shoulders, sweet and firm without teeth. The time for teeth has mostly passed, leaving him feeling slow and heavy with smug pleasure.
A soft exchange of mumbles once they have enough air lets Derek know Stiles is okay, even “Fucking amazing you bastard, I’m tingling and sore but I’ll survive,” and Derek lets his cock pull out slowly, two fingers pushing in to keep his come there in Stiles’ heat. He whispers into the patch of neck he’s claimed that he’ll eat him clean later so keep that nice and hot for him, okay sweetheart?
Stiles' shaky moan is the only answer he gets before they’re drifting off, Derek mouthing at Stiles’ shoulder, one arm stretched around to bury his hand at the throbbing, raw folds, the other wound around his stomach to rub softly at the ache inside, black lines snaking up Derek's forearm as he draws any actual soreness away.
Not a bad way to break in an apartment, though Stiles does end up bitching later about the rips in his sheets.