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More Butt Cuddling

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It happened again, maybe a week later, that Stiles woke up first. And he was just blown away by it. The thought was still completely overwhelming, chased every other thought from his head for once. Derek's instincts, the parts of him completely beyond his control, heard Stiles' heartbeat pick up, felt him rouse and start creaking around on the mattress and chose to ignore it and let the big were remain at rest. Stiles found himself mostly in love with that. He lay propped on an elbow studying his...lover, boyfriend whatever. Equal. Partner. Sure.

Derek had insisted on shades over blinds, so the muted morning light made him an interesting study. So Stiles looked his fill whenever he could, and for once he found it was for more than to just fix an image in his spank bank for later. Derek was fun to look at. He looked younger in his sleep, sure, but he also made faces with his dreams. Not nightmares, Stiles had not caught him in one of those yet, but honest to goodness dreams that made him twitch and smile and still roll his eyes.

His eyebrows tweaked together and his mouth thinned into a classic bitchface, making Stiles smile. Erica bitchface, he decided, not Scott or Peter. He was tempted to ask to share the memories of Derek's dreams now that he was awake for them. Tempted, but he would never follow through. There was too much history, too much evil association with the practice, and he was of course a little frightened – actually afraid – of seeing anything accidentally. Not of what he would see. He was slowly realizing through his fierce brand of love that he could see a lot of awful shit and not be scared off. But doing anything without Derek's express consent – the thought twisted his gut unpleasantly.

Stiles reached out to smooth a thumb over the line between Derek's eyebrows. “Shh,” he soothed, “she gives you enough headaches when you're awake,” he murmured. Derek's face relaxed. Stiles couldn't help it, he ran his fingers over first one, then the other brow. He understood Romeo for the first time, “Oh to be a glove,” or whatever. He made it down his nose and through one soft cheekful of stubble before Derek's face twitched up again and Stiles snatched his hand back, caught.

But all Derek did was scrub a hand down his face, legit circle his nose and mouth around in tandem (like a bunny!), then roll over on his side away from Stiles.

Oh yeah, Stiles was lost. Spoiled. Ruined for all others. Lydia who.

Because the fleeting thought of 'adorable' had just gone through his mind and it wasn't his fault okay, Adderall wasn't until 10:00 A.M....but dammit if it wasn't true.

So Derek was just heartbreakingly adorable AND had just given Stiles his back. In his sleep. He could feel some thick syrupy emotion melting its way up his throat from his chest, but he didn't want to examine it too closely. Not yet, not first thing in the morning. So he examined Derek's back instead, eyes trailing over and down the uninterrupted, even skin, letting himself get excited but taking his sweet time to get all the way down to the Alpha's impressive backside...

...then he had to clap his free hand over his mouth to cover his laugh. Stiles didn't care. He giggled. Unabashedly. He wished there was a way for him to get away with taking a picture for later.

Derek shifted, rolling forward onto his stomach and bunching up his pillow. “Hmm,” he grumbled in question, entire trunk moving with the noise and that only made it worse so Stiles reached out, muffling his giggles as best he could with his lips pressed together, and peeled – PEELED – their apparently forgotten tube of lube off of the side of one cheek where it was stuck hard enough to have followed the ass when it left the mattress.

Derek immediately clapped a hand over the spot, scratching at the ribbed red-and-white indents from the cap. “What the frig was that?”

Stiles fell over laughing. “Aww, poor thing!”

“Why are you laughing.”

“I just watched you scratch your ass,” he guffawed.

“It freakin' itched!”

Stiles loved it that Derek never swore. He only laughed harder.

“What the heck was it,” he grumbled, pushing up on one palm and pulling the abused cheek in an attempt to see the damage. He scratched at it again, then looked blearily up at Stiles, hair stuck up at odd angles, close enough to a pout that he could melt.

“Aww,” he cooed again, starting to lean in – Derek's eyes even dropped to Stiles mouth and Jesus fucking Christ Stiles loved his face before they kissed – but he swept down to press a wet, smacking kiss over the indent of the bottle instead. Derek groaned and flopped back face first into the pillow.

“You are so weird,” he moaned as Stiles patted at Derek's ass cheek.

“Poor puppy, getting violated by our lube,” he crooned, ignoring Derek's muffled, “Mmm-hmm,” to lick over the offended area. “Mmm,” suddenly interested.

He kissed and licked and nipped and, yeah, nuzzled his way across Derek's butt, slowly rearranging himself to lay between his legs and Derek let him. He didn't seem to understand Stiles' fascination with cuddling his butt, but he tolerated it well enough. Maybe even liked it a little, from the way he shifted and tilted to follow Stiles' mouth. He kissed his way to the top, thumbing the dimples there.

“Hey Derek,” he murmured.

“Hmm-mmm,” came the stuttered reply as Stiles licked the perfect triangle at the top of his crack.

“How much do you trust me?” he asked, then tugged at his hips.

There was a pause where Stiles almost had time to kick himself for getting too heavy first thing in the morning, but then Derek gave a gruff reply of, “Enough.”

Stiles laughed darkly. Sass had to be a genetic Hale trait. He gave one cheek a pinch as Derek lifted his hips in front of him. Then he moaned his way through flattening his tongue over his hole. His hands settled against the backs of Derek's thighs, idly stroking his thumbs across the shakes and quivers and at one point when he pushed his tongue in pointed, goosebumps. He loved this.

“Stiles–”and he loved it, always loved the way Derek said his name, the burst of air and the gutteral stutter over the I, like a horse snorting or a – he laughed against his hole because he couldn't help it, running his bottom lip up and down over the saliva shiny skin. The way Derek said his name sounded like a wolf sneezing.

“Stiles, now.”

He pulled away giggling at how wrecked the Alpha sounded. No one else, he thought. No one else got to see this, no one else could wring these responses from Derek. He flopped down on his back beside him, looking over with a bright smile. Derek met his gaze over one obnoxious bicep, mouth gasping open and pupils blown wide. All his, Stiles did that.

And then he couldn't look anymore because Derek was jerking him into a kiss by the back of his head. He snickered into it. This was definitely more what he had been talking about, seeing the edges of Derek's control was amazing.

Derek climbed on top of him, and that was amazing, too. He moaned and whimpered and poured every ounce of porn he had in him into their kiss in appreciation of the new friction of their cocks rubbing together. This was new and he liked it, Derek straddling Stiles' hips, the delicious weight of him aiding their frottage. He whined and bucked under him, wanting more.

But Derek stopped him from lifting a leg out from between his knees. Stiles gave an attempt at a growl, biting Derek's lower lip before dropping his arms flat over his head. “Are you going to fucking tie me down too let's go, c'mon,” he panted and arched up to rub his dick against Derek's, slow and smooth.

Derek shook his head and grabbed Stiles' wrist, pulling it down between them. Stiles liked that, too, jerking them off together, mixing pre-come and not knowing what sensation belonged to hand or dick or other dick and he was so fucking ready for any kind of main event but things needed to be moving faster. He opened his hand to catch them both, but then had to shake his sex-addled head to make sense of what he was seeing and feeling. Derek was actually separating their cocks, what, “No, what are you do- huh?”

Stiles looked up at Derek, confused as fuck because he had guided their hands between them and under his body. Between his spread thighs. “What?”

“You asked how much I trusted you,” Derek reminded him.

Stiles' thoughts went wild. No, no, plan failed, this was all wrong he never needed proof or further declaration, the sleeping was enough this was just too fucking much, “Yeah, but I meant for- You don't have to- I'm not asking for-”

“I am,” Derek said, looking Stiles dead in the eye and holy FUCKING shit, what the hell was going on? Derek was pressing Stiles' finger inside him, that was what and he had never- even during blowjobs the thought had never crossed his mind to- HE was the bottom, dammit, he was a power bottom in his own estimation and he kind of liked it that way but oh my GOD he had a finger in to the second knuckle and it was smooth but wet and he didn't care that that was his own saliva and it was just a fucking finger and he could barely focus his eyes.

He felt more than saw Derek leaning up and away for a moment, then there was cold and wet on his palm and he was jolted back to reality. Lube, right. Better. He lowered his other hand from where it was still thrown over his head to pump at Derek's shaft and cup his balls while he tried to apply his knowledge of how Derek fingered him to what he was doing now. From the noises Derek was making, quiet little mewls from the back of his throat, Stiles guessed he was a quick study.

“Now, now, it's gotta be now,” was all the warning Derek gave before he was positioning Stiles' cock and sliding down onto it and just like always, Stiles saw fucking white.

Derek Hale. Derek fucking Hale was fucking riding his dick. Stiles suddenly and completely understood the term blue streak. He could see all the words blurring across his mind's eye with the obscene noises they both were making, know that didn't make sense but had no idea where Derek had put all his senses. He had scrambled them all up. Stiles tried to focus, knew he must have looked like some blissed out virgin but this was so much more than normal and it was so fucking close to mind numbing that he could barely move himself. His hands had fallen back to around his head and for once he wished he had longer hair so he could pull it, ground himself someway.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, and Derek practically barked a laugh. Stiles finally looked up at him – and it was so different – and lost all sensation everywhere. He felt amazing, sure, but Derek's face took all of his attention from everything else. Like, thank God for the part of his brain that automatically made his heart work. Everything else shut off. Derek's eyes were closed and yeah okay, his fucking eyelashes were beautiful. His nostrils were flaring with exertion or scenting or whatever Stiles didn't care. His mouth was hanging open and Stiles could. Hear. His. Labored. Breathing. And even better than that, his entire head was lolling about, like he couldn't even hold it up, couldn't decide if he wanted to throw it back in pleasure or let it drop forward.

Stiles' hips rolled of their own accord. He wanted more of that. He reached down and gripped the tops of Derek's thighs, pressing him down, stilling him as much as he could. Derek's eyes snapped open and he couldn't help it, he felt all the air punched out of him in some noise or another just as he snapped his hips up to bottom out. Derek shouted, apparently shocked and hopefully pleasured enough to lose his balance and fall forward, one hand landing in the center of Stiles' chest, the other gripping the sheets at his side while his eyes rolled closed. Oh, yeah. Hell yeah Stiles could get used to this. He gave another sharp thrust, just to hear that sound again, before building a more regular rhythm that he fucking prayed he could maintain. Derek kept trying to move but fuck that, he asked for this, Stiles kept his tight grip on Derek's thighs and the Were allowed it, visibly tried (and satisfyingly failed) to obey it.

He was getting close. And so was Derek. And fuck he was satisfied. This was it, this was what he wanted and fuck everything and everyone else. He could feel his thrusts getting more wild and jerky and belatedly he hoped that Derek had found the right angle to hit his own prostate earlier when he had been in control because Stiles didn't know what to look for yet. But Derek was leaking all over Stiles' belly and moaning and whining so something had to be going right.

“Yeah...”

“Soon-”

“Close-”

“Yes!”

Derek took his hand off Stiles' chest to wrap around his shaft but he was having fucking none of that and released the Alpha's thigh to bat his hand away. Derek opened his eyes again to look pleading, questioning down at him. Stiles merely wrapped his own hand around Derek's girth and surprised even himself by shooting his other hand out to grab at the hair at the nape of the other man's neck. He pulled Derek's dark head down to him, burying himself to the hilt in Derek and rocking there for a moment. “Mine,” he snarled. “My job.”

Then he kissed him, hard, or tried to anyway but they had both lost their rhythm, their control, their fucking senses and were just rutting, hard and fast while Stiles jerked Derek completely out of time but who the fuck cared because Derek's face and he wanted to come but he wanted Derek to come more and then they were both coming, shouting, cursing and breathing heavy. Stiles could see Derek's heart beating through his impressive pectorals. It was fucking great.

When he could see straight again, he beamed up at Derek, who was smiling down at him uncertainly. He lifted off and Stiles shouted at that feeling, then stretched and gave an animal roar before rolling to his side and propping his head up with his fist. Derek had flopped onto his stomach, into a pillow, and all Stiles could see were his eyes and those fucking eyebrows.

“I have never been so torn between coming myself and watching you lose your fucking mind.”

Derek made no response, but the tips of his ears and the top of his nose turned pink. He was shy. Derek Hale, actually fucking shy. Stiles was a goner. He reached over and tugged the back of Derek's neck, and found himself crushed into a desperate kiss, pressed back under Derek's weight again. He laughed into the kiss.

“That was it,” he said against Derek's mouth, “that was what I wanted, I loved it.”

“...I love you.”

His smile only widened as he pulled back enough to meet two eyes instead of one blob. “Yay,” he said quietly, “mission accomplished, I love you, too.” And then he kissed him again because fuck heavy shit that early in the morning. They could get serious and shmoopy later.