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Ridiculous (Or Maybe Not So Much)

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It has been going on all day and Stiles simply can’t take it anymore.

Derek has been humping almost every single object in the Martins’ house, starting from the worn leather armchair in the living room - the one that Lydia’s dad uses to relax at night, a glassful of whiskey in his hand -, all through the running washing machine in the laundry room and even the antique standing lamp in the hallway.

The worst thing of it all is that Derek hasn’t been doing it quietly, leaving his poodle comrade - read: Stiles - in the dark about what’s going on with his body. No. Oh, hell, no. Of course the fucker had to whine and pant and almost howl loudly and shamelessly, making Stiles even too aware of what is happening.

And Stiles can’t take it anymore.

“Would you please fucking stop-” he growls, ears flattened against his head as he enters the room where Derek’s scent is stronger, richer, a crazy mix of sweat and hormones and come that makes Stiles’ head spin for a second. Though that’s not what makes him freeze right on the threshold, eyes wide at the image Derek is - unconsciously? Stiles isn’t sure of that - offering.

The slender yet muscled doberman is curled over the carpet, his long, black tail a sharp contrast against the pale green fabric, and his head is buried between his spread open hind legs, his dark pink tongue unceremoniously lapping at the length of his enlarged penis, again and again and again, and slipping from time to time down, wetting Derek’s tight hole in a way that looks nothing but delicious.

In all the years he’s been living with the Martin family, Stiles has never seen Derek acting like this, giving in to his instincts in such an obvious way. And maybe it’s wrong, staring at Derek so openly, drinking in the sounds the doberman is making, high whines that shoot straight to Stiles’ belly and make him want to bite the back of Derek’s neck, keep him still as Stiles ruts against him- Though it’s nothing compared to when Derek’s huge, lost eyes land on him.

Fire. Stiles can see nothing but fire.

His ears shoot up in surprise and he’s almost tempted to literally turn tail and run, hide himself under Lydia’s bed and stay there until some member of the family will be back home. But. The look Derek is giving him is almost frantic, as if Stiles is the only key to his release, and it pins him on the spot like nothing else before.

From the carpet, Derek whines. “Stiles.” And then he’s rolling on his back, paws up in the air as he presents himself to Stiles, his chestnut-colored chest rising and falling as his tongue lolls out of his mouth.

Stiles can’t believe his own eyes.

Yet, he finds himself entering the room, instincts driving him even if he still can’t seem to process what’s going on. He paces around Derek, who is still lying on the floor, the slow sweeps of his tail on the floor the only sign of his impatience, sniffing the air, baring his teeth in surprise when Derek tries to paw at him.

What’s the meaning of this, Stiles wants to bark. Only he already knows what Derek wants, what he needs. And he’s strangely okay with giving it to him. Several times.

And, suddenly, Derek seems to get it too, because the look in his eyes turns from lost to hungry, his back arching as slightly rolling over the carpet in excitement.

“You should have just said it,” Stiles grumbles, but he’s already diving his head between Derek’s hind legs, his snout poking at where Derek’s scent is stronger and he’s already wet but not slick enough. And then his tongue is running along Derek’s hole, one, two, three times, until Derek is crying and trashing on the floor, desperate for Stiles to mount him.

Jesus.

Lost in the scent of pure sex that Derek is emanating, Stiles finds himself  even too ready for it, aching to get his dick inside Derek, knot him like the bitch that he is. Only for Stiles.

Derek bites at the air over Stiles’ head. “Stop playing,” he growls, still desperate but almost back to his pushy self. A moment later he’s rolling on his feet, tail up as he shows Stiles what he really wants.

Thing is, Stiles is almost too eager to give it to him, he realizes as he finds himself struggling to get on top of Derek, clawing at Derek’s soft fur in the fevered attempt to get on him just- And then he’s in, his cock enlarging as Derek’s hole opens up around Stiles, enveloping him in warmth and slickness.

A high, satisfied whine escapes Derek’s throat and Stiles joins him a second later, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he fights to get some air back into his lungs.

This is crazy. This is crazy and perfect and so fucking hot it makes Stiles want to howl forever. But instead he just thrusts even deeper, starts fucking Derek with fast, rough movements, lets himself drown in pleasure and the heady scent of Derek’s arousal.

Coming inside Derek is something Stiles would have never dared to imagine, not even in his wildest dreams. And yet, a handful of minutes later, he finds himself doing exactly that, his knot spreading Derek impossibly wide as he comes and comes and comes, filling Derek to the brink, marking him as Stiles’ bitch.

After, Derek growls when Stiles pulls out, but he lets Stiles lap his come away anyway. He lets Stiles take care of him, watches the poodle with big, lazy eyes until Derek’s red hole is shining with nothing but spit and Stiles is crouching beside him on the carpet, unsure of what Derek wants him to do next.

Derek blinks back at him as if Stiles’ stupidity personally insulted him.

Of course.