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The Alexandrian Solution

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You think that once you've seen someone naked, there won't be any more surprises. The clothes come off, you check them over for hilarious tattoos or ugly birthmarks or third nipples or - if the naked person in question is oh, say, a werewolf - a tail, and when you don't find anything, you think, great! Nothing to see here except the regular, awesome under-the-clothes stuff. All aboard the naked train, full steam ahead!

And another thing: it's not like Derek was so big on remaining fully-clothed at all times before they started having sex, either. Seriously, Stiles was lulled into a false sense of security by Derek's penchant for stripping to the waist at any given opportunity. Why would a guy do that if he had anything to hide?

"And if you did have something to hide," Stiles says now, holding a finger up to both illustrate his point and serve as a symbolic sort of barrier between him, "then it really would have been polite to bust it out the first time we got down, instead of waiting until the window for bodily curiosities had already closed."

"Stiles," Derek says.

"I mean it's just rude," Stiles goes on. "And we agreed that we were both going to work on our manners."

"Stiles," Derek says.

"All right, I agreed it and you just kind of hulked a shoulder at me," Stiles allows. "But I read it as a positive hulk. I'm usually very good at reading them. You have given me no choice but to hone that particular skill to an expert level."

"Stiles," Derek says, a third time. "Would you shut up for a second and let me think?"

Stiles shuts up, and drops his gaze so his eyes are fixed on the same thing as Derek's: his dick.

Derek's dick. Not Stiles' dick. Stiles' dick has suffered its first ever case of stage fright in the face of such an intimidating co-star, and is currently safely hidden under the pillow Stiles had pulled into his lap while he was scrambling back against the headboard to get away from...that.

"Seriously," he says, still staring. "You couldn't warn a guy?"

"I told you," Derek grits out, hands on his hips. He's still staring down at his crotch. "I didn't know."

"How could you not know?" Stiles bugs his eyes at Derek. "I know you've had sex before. You've had sex with me before!"

"This never happened any of those times."

"Why is it happening now?"

"Again," Derek says shortly, "with the not knowing."

Stiles is just really struggling to understand how there can be anything a guy doesn't know about his own junk. Stiles knows his own dick better than he knows the back of his hand. Or the front of his hand! In fact, the thing he probably knows the best about his hands is what they feel like when they're on his dick.

"Don't try to tell me you don't jerk off," he blurts out, lifting his chin when Derek scowls at him. "Dude, come on. You traded being able to terrify me with a glare a long time ago."

Derek kind of huffs. "Yeah, what'd I get in return?"

"The ability to bring me to my knees with a well-timed sexyface," Stiles says. "Duh."

That gets him a flat look. "I don't have a sexyface."

"Not right now," Stiles agrees. "Anyway, back to your masturbatory habits. You do, right?"

Derek raises an eyebrow.

"Indulge in a little self-abuse," Stiles clarifies. "Adjust the antennae. Test your batteries. Flog the bishop. Rope the Pope. Milk the lizard. Enjoy some quality time with Mistress Palm and her five-"

"Please stop talking."

"-daughters," Stiles says, and then frowns. "Or sons."

Derek just kind of stands there - well, he's kneeling on the bed, so he kneels there - with his hands on his hips, frowning. His dick, Stiles can't help but notice, has absolutely not received the notice that they're taking a break in the proceedings.

"Oh god," Stiles says. "You do, right? It's not like some religious thing. Is it forbidden? With werewolves? Like with Mormons? Or...was it the Victorians?"

"No," Derek says. "It's not forbidden. I do...that."

Stiles stares at him. "Maybe you shouldn't be, if you're too shy to say it."

"I'm too horrified to pick one of your euphemisms," Derek says. "Masturbation, on the other hand, I am fine with."

"Well then how could you not know?"

"Because," Derek says, very slowly, like he is a rude tourist and Stiles doesn't speak his language, "it. Has. Never. Happened. Be. Fore."

Stiles steeples his fingers under his chin and really looks at the problem they're facing.

"It still looks like your dick," he offers.

Derek makes a non-committal noise. "Most of it."

It's true. Most of the way down, Derek's dick looks exactly the same as it usually does. Long (but not scary-long), thick (but not like, Pringles tube style), and with a very slight lean to the left when it's hard. The skin is flushed dark with blood and is, Stiles knows, hot and petal-soft to the touch when Derek's hard like this, hard with a big fucking knot at the base of his cock.

"At least you noticed on out-stroke," Stiles offers. "Because I'm not sure it would come out again once you put it, uh. In."

"I think that's probably the point," Derek says, after a pause.

"For - oh," Stiles says blankly. Oh God. "Right. Yeah. For...plugging purposes. Cool. Awesome. Awesome, that's...totally awesome."

"Is it," Derek says, not a question.

Stiles looks up, and Derek's eyes are on him now. He seems to hesitate for a second before he says, "I should put my clothes back on."

"No," Stiles says automatically, because he is against that on principle. Naked Derek is one of his favorite things. See above re: enjoyably regular shirtlessness.

"You're freaking out," Derek says.

"No!" Stiles says, again automatically. Then he says, "Well, kind of," because honesty is important in relationships, especially relationships with people who can magically detect lies, ugh. "Look, just...come here."

Derek comes there eventually, after Stiles abandons the pillow in order to yank him off balance. They end up side-by-side on the bed, and Stiles gets comfy with his knee hooked over Derek's legs and his hand on Derek's belly. While he's fidgeting around, his forearm brushes against Derek's dick, and Derek sucks in air like it's gonna run out, fingers digging sharply in to Stiles' back.

"Does it hurt?" Stiles asks, dismayed.

"No," Derek says stiffly. Stiles looks at his face. His eyes are tightly closed.

Oh. Stiles eyes Derek's dick again. "Does it feel...good? The knot, I mean?"

Derek doesn't answer, but in the way that Stiles has come to learn means, "yes, but I don't want to say so out loud." Really, though, Derek's rapid breathing and the pulse Stiles can see fluttering in the hollow of his throat are answer enough.

"You're getting turned on again," Derek announces. It used to make Stiles cringe, but now he just goes with it. He hums his confirmation. Derek cracks an eye open. "So I don't need to put my clothes back on."

It occurs to Stiles for the first time that finding something on - or in - your dick that you've never seen before might be kind of traumatic. It also occurs to him that it might be kind of upsetting if the guy you're sleeping with reacts to said new addition with screaming horror. Stiles knows he was pretty concerned about the reveal of his own naked body the first few times they got down, and nothing even popped out of his own crotch to surprise him. He's got a few moles that are fighting for the spotlight, though, and if Derek had reacted badly he probably would have felt pretty shitty about it.

"I accept your body!" Stiles says hurriedly. "I accept you. Sexually."

There is a pause. Derek says, "Thanks."

They look down at his dick together. Stiles says, "Scott never mentioned this."

"He was bitten," Derek says thoughtfully. "Maybe it's different for born wolves."

"Didn't your Dad talk to you about it? Before, uh..." he died in a fire with the rest of your family, shut up Stiles shut up shut up. "Because my Dad talked to me about dick. A lot. A - really an upsetting amount. Of dick talk. Where I shouldn't get it out, what I shouldn't put it in..."

"I think maybe he tried once," Derek says, after a moment. He doesn't offer anything else, and Stiles wants to push, but...well. Derek. And also? Dick.

"Can I touch it?" he says instead.

Derek swallows. A muscle moves in his jaw. He says, "Yeah."

Stiles goes slowly at first, which is not really their usual style, but whatever. He slides his flat palm down over Derek's belly, across the sharp cut of his hip, then backtracks slightly to close his fingers around the top part of Derek's dick, where it's still familiar. Derek makes a little noise, holding himself so tense that Stiles is vaguely concerned tendons might start snapping any minute.

"Okay," Stiles says out loud.

"Okay," says Derek.

"I'm going to touch your...uh. Knot. Now."


"I guess," Stiles says, flexing his fingers.

"Okay," Derek says. Stiles can't be sure, but he thinks maybe one corner of Derek's mouth lifts up a little bit. Just a very little bit.

"Okay," Stiles says, and slides his hand all the way down.

It's wider, obviously, but other than that it feels basically the same: hot and soft skin, hard underneath and so swollen, Stiles can't stop himself from squeezing. Derek swallows on a moan and arches into it, letting out a breathy, shocked sort of sigh when Stiles does it again, harder this time.

"It's good?" Stiles says, sort of redundantly, but it seems like it's polite to check. "You like it?"

Derek makes an affirmative noise, hips tilting up into Stiles' grip. He's leaking every time Stiles squeezes, making soft little noises in his throat. His eyes are still closed.

Stiles tries to think of what else Derek likes: stuff done to his ears, which he tries to deny when Stiles brings it up in not-bed locations, but whatever, it's true. Stiles leans in catches the lobe of one between his teeth. Derek likes that, likes teeth, so Stiles bites down his jaw, his throat, makes it all the way over Derek's shoulder to his nipple with his hand still squeezing and stroking the knot at the base of Derek's dick.

He can feel Derek's pulse there, under his hand, beating so strong it makes Stiles' dick throb in sympathy. Derek is making more noise now, half-words and curses, mostly, bitten out in harsh, panting breaths. All of a sudden his eyes fly open and he flashes into action, getting Stiles on his back in the bed and looming over him.

"Don't stop," he says, reaching down to give Stiles' hand an encouraging squeeze where it's still wrapped around Derek's cock.

"I won't," Stiles promises, and Derek rewards him with a kiss, a really good one, hot and sweet and sharp. Derek is all the way up in his business, for real, pressing Stiles down into the bed with his bodyweight, squeezing and rubbing everything he can reach, trapping Stiles underneath him and taking big, greedy lovebites out of his shoulders, his throat, his chest. Stiles suffers from pretty much constant beard burn these days, and it is totally worth it. He wriggles and moans and rubs his dick against Derek's ridiculous abs and generally has the time of his life, wrapped up in Derek's arms, in his bodyheat, in his skin. All the while he keeps his hand moving on Derek's cock, with his palm and his wrist and even his forearm getting wet with how much Derek is loving this. Derek's doing more than half the work, probably, fucking Stiles' hand with a jerky, almost anxious rhythm, like he isn't sure he should be doing it but it feels too good to stop, like he can't help himself, like he's - huh.

"Do you want to put it back in me?" he says out loud, and Derek freezes. Stiles says, "The - I mean, your dick? Like this?"

Derek raises up on his arms. He stares at Stiles for a while. Stiles is still holding on to his dick.

"For fucking," Stiles adds, because Derek is particularly slow to catch on to ideas this evening. Maybe more blood is being diverted to his dick than usual. "You know, that thing we do sometimes, Slot A into Tab B? Bumping uglies? Laying down pipework? Burying the bone? Taking old one-eye to the-"

"Do you know you're saying all of this out loud?"

"-optometrist," Stiles finishes, and grins up at Derek's baffled, frowning face. "Well, do you?"

Derek seems like he's thinking about it, despite the fact that it was a very simple question. Eventually he says, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Uh, damn right you're not," says Stiles, making a face. "Who wants that? C'mon, it's not that much bigger than your regular dick. And your regular dick isn't totally huge or anything."

"Gee," says Derek. "Shucks."

"You know what I mean," Stiles says, giving Derek's dick a quick stroke to remind it how much he likes it. Derek's eyelids flutter and he pushes into Stiles' grip.

"What if it does something else weird when I'm already in you?" he says, voice strained.

Another thing Stiles had not really considered. "Like what?"

"I don't know." Derek's forehead furrows. More than usual. "What if something comes out?"

"Of your dick?" At Derek's nod, Stiles grins. "Isn't that kind of the idea?"

"Stiles," Derek says, starting to pull away.

"Hey," Stiles says then, reaching up to lay his hand over the back of Derek's neck. He squeezes, firmly. "I feel like maybe I'm wandering into a weird territory here, populated by guys who say things like 'you can't get pregnant the first time if you're standing up and it's after ten at night and we play this Limp Bizkit song backwards first.' And I'm not one of those guys, Derek. I don't want to be one of those guys. Those guys are jerks. They listen to Limp Bizkit, for a start. Wait - do you know who Limp Bizkit are? Were?"

"Stiles," Derek growls.

"Right!" Stiles shakes his head, getting back to the matter at hand. So to speak. "Don't worry about it. Let's just - we'll just keep doing what we're doing, and then maybe we can look it up after or ask someone or-"

"I do want to," Derek says, interrupting. Stiles tries to look him in the eye, but Derek is making his dart shiftily around the place, not to be caught. "I want to. I mean. It's like..." Derek lets most of his weight push Stiles into the bed again, rocking against him and making a sort of sighing noise. It's pretty delicious, Stiles won't lie. Derek says, "I think it would be..." and then trails off again, pushing his face into Stiles' throat and his dick into Stiles' hand.

Yeah, yeah, Stiles can work with this. Derek's usually more than happy to let his jizz speak for itself, as it were, and he only tries (and fails) to use his words when whatever it is they're doing is blowing his head off. Like the first time Stiles went down on him. Well, the second time. Stiles likes to think of the first time as a rehearsal. A massively unsuccessful rehearsal. On both their parts.

"I want you to," Stiles says now, because it's the truth, and because consent is awesome, and because even once said consent has been willingly and enthusiastically granted, Derek sometimes needs an invitation in triplicate before he'll take it. "Having your dick in me is awesome in general so I can't imagine that having more of it is going to suddenly suck."

Derek pulls back just enough to give him a hard stare. "If it starts to hurt-"

"I'll tell you," Stiles promises. "I will use my safe action."

"Which is?"

"To punch you in the head and scream 'get off me'."

Derek nods, slowly. "That sounds clear enough. Okay."

"Okay - woah!" The room spins, and Stiles winds up on his knees, facing the headboard. "Wait, you don't want me on top?"

Derek rummages in the sheets for the lube. "You weren't on top before."

"I just thought, you know." Stiles waves a hand. "Gravity."

"Hmm," Derek says, slicking his fingers up. "No. I'd rather take you from behind."

"Oh, well," Stiles tells the wall, which doesn't say unbelievably ridiculous things like that. "If you'd rather."

"Uh huh," Derek says, and sticks his fingers into Stiles' ass, just like that.

"We've already done fingering!" Stiles protests.

Derek hums, right in Stiles' ear, making him shiver. "And now we're doing it again."

"But we were already fucking!"

"Shut up," Derek says. "You're distracting me."

Stiles sighs and rests his forehead against the wall. There's a chip in the paint and Stiles stares kind of crazily at it with one eye while Derek does his thing, opening Stiles up even more and, Stiles suspects, observing the proceedings more closely than is strictly necessary. As usual. He's all business, not doing anything to make Stiles get into it, particularly, which is sort of annoying because Stiles knows Derek can find his way around Stiles' ass by now, but on the other hand, maybe he wants Stiles alert and present, not stumbling around lost in a lust-fog or wallowing under a post-orgasm blanket of bliss.

"This is taking forever," he points out when Derek shows no signs of moving on. "This is taking longer than the first time you did me, and that was like...I aged during that foreplay. An entire lunar cycle took place. The seasons changed. Leaves fell, and-"

Derek puts his free hand over Stiles' mouth, and carries on fingering him. "I told you I'm not going to hurt you," he says, quiet and firm, and adds another fifteen tons of lube. As an afterthought, he adds, "But you can touch yourself."

Stiles tries to non-verbally communicate his indignation that Derek thinks Stiles needs permission to touch his own junk, but he gets his hand on his cock at the same time so it maybe comes out more like a pleasure moan than a protest. Whatever. He rolls his head against the wall, then lets it drop back onto Derek's shoulder, and Derek kind of mmms and rubs Stiles' cheek with his own. "Don't move."

He takes both hands off and out of Stiles, and picks up a new condom instead. Stiles cranes his neck to watch as Derek gets it out of the wrapper, then looks down at his dick, then back at the condom, then at his dick again.

"It's not like the one you had on before suddenly burst into shreds," Stiles points out. "It wasn't broken when you took it off. Uh, right?"

"Right," Derek says.

"And they test those things with like, five gallons of water inside," Stiles tells him. "So I think you're okay, tripod."

Derek makes an irritated clicking noise with his tongue, and rolls the condom on. He's slow and careful, poking sort of dubiously at the latex stretching around the base of his dick.

"I am sure that guys with much bigger dicks than you successfully have safe sex all the time," Stiles says.

"It's your sweet-talk that I like the best, I think," Derek says thoughtfully.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Would you just get on with it?"

"Fine," Derek says, and grabs Stiles by the hip.

It doesn't feel any different from usual, at first. It's just Derek's dick, the blunt, sweet stretch of it pushing into him. The hurt noise Stiles can't keep from making every time, the surprised sound Derek answers him with. It's hot and it feels good and Stiles rocks his hips, easing himself down and arching his back so it hits him right - "Fuck."

"Uh huh," Derek says, fucking Stiles steady and slow, like a person would almost think he wasn't enjoying it if they couldn't hear the catch in his breath on every thrust.

Stiles can hear the catch in his breath. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Are you going to put the rest of it in me, or what?"

"I changed my mind," Derek says. "It's the dirty-talk I like best."

"I'm just saying there's no point in a -fuck - new toy if you're not even going to - ah - play with it." Derek pulls Stiles back against him, and now they're going at it for real, Derek's hand sliding up to brace around the base of Stiles' throat. Stiles says, "I can feel it, oh shit."

He can, he can feel it pushing at him every time Derek thrusts, the threat and promise of more. He finds himself rocking back into it, flushes all over at the pleased sort of purring noise Derek makes, and then moans when Derek's other hand slides down and wraps around his cock.

"No," he slurs, caught and helpless between Derek's warm grip and the shallow, perfect strokes of his cock inside, "you're going to make me come before you get it in."

"You'll be more relaxed," Derek says in his ear, low and determined. "Just - just let me, Stiles. Please."

Stiles moans something in reply, and Derek definitely takes it as a yes, stroking Stiles hard and fast, the fingers on his other hand tightening up around Stiles' throat. One day Stiles will learn how to delay gratification but today - like all the others so far - is apparently not that day. It's too good, it's too hot, and Stiles feels the sweet, heavy beat of his climax like syrup in a can, right down deep in his core, in his balls, in his cock like one-two-three oh and then boom, bliss explosion, racing up his spine and crashing over his head and swallowing him whole, all the way out to his fingertips and all the way down to his toes.

He shakes with it, jerking against the hand Derek's got around his throat and the one still squeezing his cock nice and tight, and he can feel the way it's making Derek crazy, he can feel it, feel the tension and the tremors running through Derek's body as he fights his instincts, fights what his body's telling him to do.

"Come on," Stiles urges, reaching back to grab Derek's hip, trying to pull him in closer. "Do it, Derek, give it to me."

"Fuck," Derek spits, shoving into him harder, letting Stiles feel where he's swollen and huge, pushing at Stiles' body on every thrust.

"I want you to," Stiles insists, clinging to the headboard. "It's okay, Derek, I know you want to. It's okay, you can, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay - holy shit."

Derek cries out as he gives in and shoves the rest of his cock into Stiles' body. Stiles can't breathe for a second as the knot slides in, and then it's just inside him, huge and hard and pressing up on his insides in ways that he can definitely work with.

"Stiles," Derek says, and Stiles tells him, "Yes, fuck yes," and Derek yanks him backwards, shoves his shoulders down the bed and covers him completely, rocking in him with his fingers clamped around Stiles' wrists and his breath hot and frantic on Stiles' neck. The noises he's making rise in frequency and intensity and he's grinding himself inside Stiles like he thinks he can get deeper, and Stiles sort of feels like his eyeballs are going to come flying out of his head but it's mostly in a good way, and then he feels more than hears Derek give a long, low, growl, and the agonizing shock of Derek's teeth sinking in to his shoulder as he comes.

It makes Stiles yell, and he can feel Derek getting bigger inside him, like that's even possible, swelling up further, shooting inside Stiles for what feels like a seriously long time. He's holding Stiles like a vice, teeth hands cock everything holding Stiles to him, any inch of space between them begrudged and blotted out. The pulsing of Derek's cock inside him amplifies the aftershocks still sweeping through Stiles and he can't stop shivering with it, making noises, pressing back into Derek's grip like he could actually get inside his skin.

It's pretty intense. Even after Derek gets a hold of himself enough to loosen his fingers - and his teeth - Stiles still kind of feels like he just got thrown into the sun.

"I didn't break the skin," Derek says urgently.

"I know," Stiles says. "I mean, I know you wouldn't."

"Yeah," Derek says, and just holds him there a while longer, catching his breath.

Somehow they end up on their sides, and Derek bends their knees up together until he has Stiles all folded up in his embrace. It's kind of like cuddling with a blast furnace, but Stiles is enjoying it.

He tells Derek so.

"Rfgrmm," rumbles Derek, which Stiles is going to take as an enthusiastic me too.

Derek's still in him, which is sort of weird and seems like maybe it should hurt, but it doesn't, because of dopamine or some freaky werewolf-transmitted butt anesthesia or something. He's not numb, though, he just feels full, and warm, and safe, and...cosseted, or something, like Derek has wrapped him up in cotton wool and put him in a box for safekeeping. A box made of himself.

Hmm. His thought process is getting away from him, maybe.

He tunes back into Derek, instead, who seems to have stopped coming, finally, but isn't showing any signs of moving away. He keeps rubbing his stubble-rough cheek over the sensitive skin on the back of Stiles' neck, and his hands are smoothing and squeezing Stiles' hips and belly and chest, and then he fits his mouth over the bite mark Stiles can feel throbbing in his shoulder.

Stiles flinches a little, because that actually does hurt, but Derek doesn't bite down, just makes a half-sympathetic, half-irritated noise in his throat, and just settles there with his open mouth against Stiles' tender skin, not even licking, really, just sort of...mouthing it. His heart is thumping in his chest, Stiles can feel it against his back, the heavy beat steadying out, slowing down. His arm lies heavily across Stiles' belly, and Stiles kind of hugs it a little while he thinks. Derek's fingers flex in response and he makes another rumbly noise.

"Oh my god," Stiles says out loud. "You're a cuddler!"


"You like to cuddle!" Stiles says.

More silence.

"To snuggle," Stiles says. "To embrace me, to hold me close, to clasp me in your worshipful arms, to enfold me in your -"

"Not this again," Derek sighs.

"-love nest," Stiles finishes. "Don't try to deny it, man, you are cuddling the shit out of me right now."

"I don't have much of a choice," Derek says, rocking inside Stiles just a little, which is still enough to wring a breathless noise out of both of them.

"Hey, man," says Stiles when he's recovered. "Don't sweat it. I was all about cuddling after my first time, not that you indulged me at all, which, rude, by the way. I don't know what they teach you in werewolf school but I'll bet it isn't to leap out of a guy's window and run off into the woods in the dead of night after he was nice enough to give you an orgasm."

"I thought I heard something," Derek says, which was a lie then, and it's a lie now, Stiles doesn't need werewolf senses to know that.

Whatever. Unlike Derek, Stiles is a gentleman, and he can let it go. "You should just be grateful that I'm a lot more willing to indulge your post-cherry-popping whims."

"You didn't pop my anything," Derek says indignantly.

"Pfft," says Stiles. "Have you ever done this before?"

"You know I haven't," Derek huffs.

"Well, then, consider that particular cherry well and truly popped, my friend," Stiles says firmly, and makes the noise with his finger in his cheek to settle the deal. "Now put your mouth back on my shoulder, I liked that."

Derek kind of growls, but he does as he's told.

Stiles drifts around inside his head for a while, flirting with the edges of sleep. Then his phone beeps, which makes Derek jerk and hiss, so Stiles slaps at it until it shuts up. Then, because it's in his hand already, he finds himself opening Wikipedia and thumbing in a few search terms and - huh.

"What," Derek wants to know.

"When the penis is locked into the vagina," Stiles reads, "or ass, I guess? Anyway, when that happens, the male will usually lift a leg and swing it over the female's back while turning around. The two stand with their hind ends touching and the penis locked inside - "

"I think it's gone down enough for me to pull out now," Derek interrupts.

"Yes!" Stiles agrees, flinging his phone somewhere it will no longer be able to horrify him. "Absolutely. Let's do that."

He has a brief and terrible fantasy about what will happen if it won't come out and they're tied together forever and Stiles has to call Scott and ask him for help - who is he kidding, Scott doesn't answer his phone when Stiles needs help - and/or resort to the yoga that Stiles once considered and quickly abandoned as a way of managing his various attention disorders. But all that happens in the end is Derek lays a warm hand on the small of Stiles' back and tells him to breathe out and bear down as he pulls out.

Which Stiles does, and it feels weird and not pleasant and also kind of like he', like even more than usual. Derek seems happy enough, though, getting right back into embarrassing inspector mode. When he's done, Stiles tries to turn over, but Derek's not having it, pinning Stiles back under his arm and burrowing in again, pretzeling them up together on the bed.

"Are you staying the night?" Stiles says, surprised.

Derek clears his throat. "I can leave."

"That's not what I asked."

There is a pause. Derek says, "I'm staying."

"'Kay." Stiles wriggles in Derek's grip, shoving the pillow into shape. "Hey, you can control your other beastie stuff, right? Like your claws and teeth and things."

"I can," Derek says warily.

Stiles hums, thinking. "How come you can't control this?"

"I don't know."

"We can research it," Stiles says happily. "I wonder what else freaky shit there is we don't know about yet? Do you think anything else is going to happen to your dick? Maybe it's evolving into something else! Like a Pokémon!"

"We can only hope," Derek says.

"I don't think I want a Pokémon in my ass, though." Stiles blinks, twice, heavily. Turns out experimental sex is super tiring. "But hey, at least you didn't ask me to cut it off this time. Progress." He pats Derek's hand.

Derek says, "Go to sleep, Stiles."


"Hit the sack," Derek says. "Get some shut-eye. Catch some Z's. Call it a night. Spend some time in the Land of-"

"This is not happening," Stiles says.

"-Nod," Derek says, and he doesn't join in when Stiles laughs, but maybe he's smiling.

Stiles yawns and wriggles around some more. He is pretty beat. "Do you promise not to have any more sexy revelations while I'm out?"

"I'll save them all for the morning," Derek promises him.

"You better," Stiles mumbles, and then he is asleep.