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home, the steady thrum of their hearts

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The collar's sitting on their bedside table when Lydia gets home from work. Its worn, brown leather is rich and inviting in the dying sunlight, and she knows what it means. They all do. It means Derek wants to scene, needs to scene. She's noticed his shortness of temper over the last few days, the way he's gone to bed just after the kids.

She strips out of her work clothes and pulls on something more comfortable just as David rounds the corner. He's just learning to walk and should in no way be wandering the upstairs alone. He must have opened the baby gate, again.

When she'd first found out she was pregnant, Sheriff Stilinski had laughed, congratulated them, and told Stiles he couldn't wait for Stiles to try raising a small version of himself. They weren't sure if Marie was Derek's or Stiles', but with David there was no doubt. Not with that nose.

"Did Daddy and Papa take their eye off you, huh?" She picks him up, rests him against her hip, and starts walking downstairs. She'll have to check if Stiles has sorted a babysitter for tomorrow, because that's their way of saying yes when the collar's laid out.

Derek leaves it out, Lydia or Stiles arrange the sitter. Then they play.


"Papa!" Marie calls, clinging on to Derek's legs. Marie is their eldest, from when they had all been too young to really be thinking about children.

But then there'd been Derek, who'd told her he would stand by her whatever her decision, even if his eyes kept constantly flicking to her abdomen, telling her that he wanted this baby so very much, wanted stability, wanted family. She couldn't do that to him, and she wanted kids with Derek, and Stiles, just... she hadn't been ready for them yet.

"Mommy, Papa and Daddy just need an evening together," Stiles says, coming up and scooping Marie up, or at least trying to. "You'll have loads of fun at Uncle Scott's house."

"But I want to stay with Papa and play Clue!" Marie is clinging to Derek's leg now, wobbling lip indicating that she's about a minute away from a tantrum. Derek spends all day with the kids, because Lydia has her office hours, and Stiles has his rotating shift schedule. Derek is the constant in their lives. He gets them up in the morning, washed and dressed, makes their lunches and takes them to school.

"Maybe we should cancel," Derek says, stroking Marie's head. She has him wrapped around her little finger; for a few years it had just been Marie and Derek every day when Lydia was away at college and Stiles was working all hours to prove he hadn't got the job just because of his dad. Before Andrea and David it had been only Derek and Marie, and they had bonded in a way the others maybe never would. David's already settled in his carseat, and Andrea is resting in Scott's arms, her arms wrapped around his neck.

"I want to go!" Andrea screams, eyes flashing gold. "I want to spend time with Uncle Scott and Auntie Allison!" She's missing most of her front teeth, so her lisp makes most of the words hard to understand, but she shouts loud enough for them all to hear her.

One might think Andrea is Stiles's kid the way she races through the house, but no, she's Derek's; with her dark hair and the most adorable fangs in the world. Derek says it's rare for the 'wolf to present in kids so young and none of the other pack kids have yet. But of course her kid is a little precocious. Scott's her alpha for all that Derek's her father, and she loves spending time around him.

Scott hands Andrea over to Stiles, crouching down so he's level with Marie. "C'mon, honey, you don't want to stay here with your parents. They're going to do boring adult stuff. We can play Clue at my house--I've even got the tie in novel now that they made to go with the game."

Marie might only be eight but she's well on her way to reading adult books, and Derek's had no small part in that. He loves murder mysteries and so does Marie, after he started reading them to her after she demanded to know what her papa was reading because she was too old for children's books.

"Does it have pictures?" Marie's hold on Derek's leg is loosening. This might be it, Scott might have her. Lydia doesn't need this kind of distress for Derek before they scene.

"Nope, none except on the cover," Scott promises, and that's it, they've got her.

"Sorry papa," she says, wiping the unshed tears in her eyes. "I'll go to Uncle Scott's."

"It's okay honey." Derek crouches down and she throws her arms around him, she's still so tiny next to him, but he pulls her close, rubbing his cheek against her red hair. "Promise you'll be good for Uncle Scott and we can read when you get home tomorrow, okay?"

She nods, pulls back to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Love you papa."

"Love you too, Marie. And you Andrea." He wipes a hand over Andrea's cheek, and she makes a little brrr of satisfaction. She understands that she's being scent-marked in a way David and Marie can't yet, and maybe never will. Derek takes Marie out and straps her into the car, gives David a kiss on a cheek and that's it, they're gone for the evening.

Stiles leans in to Derek's side, wraps an arm around his middle. "They'll have fun," he tells Derek, who's still staring after the car.

"I know, I just--" He sighs. Lydia can see the tension in his back from the porch. It's been too long, he's barely had a moment to himself in weeks. She knows how much he loves the kids, but no one can do that constantly. He spends so much time taking care of them all that they all end up relying on him too much.

She checks about the house, she hasn't seen the dogs since she got home, but that doesn't mean they're not about.

"Are the dogs with your dad?" Lydia asks, because Stiles isn't on call tonight, so there's no reason the dogs can't be over with his dad. He already looks after Sandy now she's retired, and Sparkles and Stacy are always happy to see their pack member again. Three dogs and three kids were too much in the house, and the Sheriff welcomed the company after Stiles had moved out.

"Yeah, I dropped them over after my shift. He'll probably give them all ground beef and they'll be picky eaters when I get them back. It's amazing how much he can spoil them in one evening." Stiles turns and drags Derek with him. "C'mon, Derek. We've got a whole evening without the little terrors about. Let's have some fun."


Stiles cooks dinner for a change, giving Derek a night off. It's only pasta but it's Stiles's secret spice mix that he refuses to share. When Lydia's finished clearing the table and loading the plates, they settle onto the sofa, Derek with a glass of wine that won't do anything for him, and Stiles and Lydia with nothing but soda.

Lydia's careful to sit away from them. When they'd started this they'd been younger and more reckless; they hadn't talked things through and there'd been some horrible misunderstandings. Derek didn't listen to his limits. Lydia got carried away. Stiles thought rules were there to be bent.

They're mostly better now, more grown up, Derek will safeword, Lydia listens to her partners, and Stiles respects everyone's boundaries. Well, mostly.

"Stiles, dom or sub tonight?" Lydia takes a sip of her soda, sinks back into the armchair. She likes this part as much as the scene itself; it's like foreplay for them.

Stiles is sprawled over one end of the sofa, one leg haphazardly thrown over Derek's lap. His eyes light up at the question. "Domming like a pro!" His excitement is visible, nudging Derek with his foot, and grinning over at him. "If that's good with Derek."

Derek licks his lips, glances to Lydia first, but she's giving nothing away. This is about Derek setting boundaries, Derek letting them know what he'll be comfortable with. It's not about pleasing them... yet. She notes the way his hand is wrapped around Stiles's bare ankle, holding on like it's keeping him grounded. "That's fine."

Hm, she rather thought it would be. Derek would never ask to be the center of attention; from day to day he might take pride just being in the background, making sure the kids, Lydia, and Stiles get to work and school okay. But this isn't about the everyday.

"We talked after the last scene, you're an easy to please boy, aren't you?" It's been months, but it never hurts to check in with Derek again, they'd talked through what he'd liked (being held down, being bossed about, being used for their pleasure), what he didn't like (being left alone, being tied down).

He nods, once, fidgets on the sofa.

"Do you want anything we haven't tried before? Anything you want to change after our last scene? Anything you want different today? How do you want to feel?"

Lydia swears she can almost see Derek itching to drop to his knees. "No, nothing, it was good. I trust you."

"Derek..." she says, warily. He's so eager to start that he's not giving her the answers she needs. She sighs. "What do you do if you want us to stop?"

"Red," Derek says almost instantly. "Orange if I want you to slow down, and green if everything's fine."

She nods once, at least she can trust him to use his safe words nowadays, she knows, academically, that she should push him to talk, that it'd be safer, but there's Stiles to pull her back if she goes too far, there years of scenes with Derek to draw on... She reaches down to pull out his collar. "Stiles, nothing else to add?"

"No, we're good." Stiles's eyes track the collar as she slowly unbuckles the leather. Stiles doesn't have his own collar, and never gets to wear Derek's, because it's Derek's alone.

It took months for Lydia to show him how good it could be, to wait for him to understand it as something other than a comment on his 'wolf nature, something other than a way to degrade him, but instead a clear line for this part of their life. Something to give Derek boundaries, a physical reassurance of her presence even when she might be otherwise engaged; like hands resting snugly around his neck.

She pats the arm of her chair, calls Stiles's name and in a minute he's there, straddling it, legs dangling on either side of the arm. He drums his fingers against the arm, in the vee of space between his legs.

"On your knees," Lydia orders Derek, a smile in her voice because she needs this as much as Derek does. She needs to give Derek something back for all that he gives her, for all the love he shows her.

Derek drops down, into his resting position, sitting back on his thighs, with his arms crossed behind his back and his head down, offering the bare nape of his neck to Lydia. She hands the collar over to Stiles, and spreads her legs, making space for Derek in between them.

"Head in my lap." She waits until he's crawled forward enough to rest a smooth cheek against her bare thigh. She's wearing a skirt short enough that it's easily lifted. Derek's just in his normal jeans and battered henley.

Lydia cards her fingers through his hair, hears his breath hitch as Stiles reaches down and slips the collar around Derek's neck. The room's silent apart from their breathing and the clink of the metal buckle. Stiles pushes a couple of fingers underneath to check its tightness, and Derek makes a small a small whine of displeasure.

He can't see her face so Lydia is safe to roll her eyes. "We're not making it tighter, Derek," she says with fond exasperation. He lets a whuff of breath out against her leg. "But if you're a good boy we'll pull on it later."

That seems to be enough for him because he relaxes his cheek into her thigh, clean shaven because she hates stubble burn. Stiles loves it, but his thighs don't prickle as easily as hers. "Okay, I need you to go upstairs, strip and wash. I want you to turn the shower on so loud you can't hear us talking, okay?"

Derek nods.

Lydia sighs. "Use your words, Derek."

"Yes, Lydia." They don't use titles here, but here he says their names different, says them like he's saying Mistress, like he's saying Sir.

He rises to his knees far too fluidly for a human, keeps his head down, and makes to leave the room.

"Wait," Stiles says, and walks to where Derek's frozen. "I want a kiss."

Stiles is right, it's a good place to start Derek. Their kiss is brief, and then Derek's off to the bathroom.

"What have you got in mind?" Stiles asks, once they can hear the shower.

"Hm, how do you feel about a little bit of... competition?" She lays a hand on his chest, over his heart, and lets it slowly trail down toward his belt buckle.

"What kind of competition?" he asks, voice a little lower than normal.

She drags his t-shirt up--a ratty stud muffin one that Derek hates, keeps trying to lose when he does the laundry--and slips her hand onto his bared skin. She nuzzles in close to Stiles, so her words are whispered onto his mouth. "The kind where everyone wins."

It's Stiles that closes the space between them, surges up to kiss her, no slow tender start, just straight into a bruising kiss. She grabs at his short hair, holding him close as she runs her tongue against the seam of his lips, finding them easily parted.

They break for a breath but keep trading kisses that promise so much more. His arm is a warm weight against her back, not holding her in place or pulling her in, just resting there. When they apart, Stiles's lips are curved in a wicked smile. "I like the sound of this game." He drops a kiss onto her cheek. "Tell me more."


He can hear them walking up the stairs, the rustle of their clothing, their soft breaths, and their slightly raised heartbeats, excited about what's to come.

The carpet in the bedroom is already leaving imprints on his knees, and he grips his biceps tighter behind his back. This position is easy; he could sit in it for hours. They've made him sit in it for hours before. Sometimes Stiles has knelt right beside him.

He knows better than to look up when they enter the room, Lydia first then Stiles. Even when Stiles is domming he still defers to Lydia. Or at least, tries to.

Lydia ignores him and heads straight to the bed. He can hear it creak under her weight, but Stiles moves to him, crouches down beside him and lays a warm hand flat on his back, resting over his triskele. Stiles's feet are bare, and he stares at them, the only part of him he can see.

"You gonna be a good boy for us?" Stiles splays his fingers out, rubs his thumb back and forth reassuringly along the skin. Hearing the words he craves falling from his husband's lips, Derek relaxes into the touch. He wants to be their good boy, he wants to be perfect for them. "That was a question, Derek."

It takes him a minute to make the words, to remember that he can speak; he's already sinking into this role. His brain starts to silence when the collar's buckled on. "Yes, Stiles."

"Good boy." Stiles presses his hand, pushing Derek forward. "Now go see Lydia, I think she's got a use for you."

Derek crawls forward, arms still behind his back until he reaches Lydia's parted legs. He can smell her cunt from here, underwear lost somewhere between the living room and the bedroom. He wants to lean forward, to taste, but he holds himself back because he hasn't been told he can.

Lydia spreads her legs wide and sits forward. The position parts her lips slightly, showing the glisten of wetness there. He can almost taste it, he wants to taste it, he wants... A high-pitched whine escapes his lips and he casts his eyes down, tries to restrain his excitement.

Stiles's hand is on his back again, rubbing up and down. "Easy boy, easy. You'll get there yet. What do you think, Lyds? Think he deserves to eat you out?"

"Hm," Lydia pretends to consider it. "It's not about what he deserves, is it? It's about what I want."
Derek has to focus on holding himself still at that, because yes, yes, yes, he wants to give Lydia whatever she wants, he wants to make her happy. He lets out a little whuff of excitement, he wants to do it now, he can do it now. He wants to take whatever they want to give him.

Stiles chuckles, low like he does when he's turned on, ignores Derek and speaks to Lydia. "Yeah, yeah, you're right. Well, do you want to be eaten out?" Stiles's other hand slides along Derek's jaw, a finger brushing over his lips before pressing in. Derek parts them, welcoming the fingers, sucking like he would if they were a cock. "He's got a wicked little mouth." Stiles strokes Derek's tongue and he tries to curl it around Stiles's fingers.

"Then if he knows what's good for him, it better get on my cunt. Derek, come here and eat me out. No hands."

He ducks his head to fit under her skirt, he's blocking any light getting in which isn't a problem, because he doesn't need to see what he's doing, he knows the smell of her, the taste. Her lips are already slightly parted, and her clit hard enough that it's peeking out the top of her slit. He places a kiss carefully on it, lets his lips fall open and sucks a little.

There's hair in the way; Lydia's trimmed and well kept but not bare. He lets his nose nuzzle at the apex of her cunt, where the scent of her sex is so strong. His tongue slips around her clit, parting her lips and slipping in her wetness.

Lydia pushes his head down, and he moves away from her clit, opens her up with his tongue. Her hair rubs against his sensitive, smooth cheeks as he moves to the source of her wetness. She smells ripe and ready, like she could take another of his pups. He doesn't mean to smell where she is in her cycle, but the hormones smell different, at the speed she's gotten wet.

He loses himself in her so easily, there's no rush, no urgency, just the leisurely lick, the occasionally tightening thighs around his ears, the twitching of her cunt. It's peaceful down here like it hasn't been in days, in weeks.

"Don't come," Lydia tells him, tightening her hands in his hair, and he thinks she's close. A gush of wetness coats his chin and yeah, yeah, she's close. He wants more, he speeds up, trying to draw her orgasm out of her, drive her to fuck his face.

He doesn't really think about his dick when he's here. He knows he's hard, but it's more important what Lydia's doing than what his dick wants. His hips might make abortive thrusts into the air, but he doesn't care, he doesn't.

"Can you back up for me, Derek?" Stiles asks from behind him. "And stick your ass out." It sounds like a request but it's not. It takes him a minute to process it, and Stiles tugs on his hips.

It's harder to keep balance like this, and he grips his biceps tighter, resting his chin on the bed by Lydia's cunt. The sheet beneath them is starting to get damp.

Stiles parts his cheeks and there's a minute of nothing, where Derek waits. Why isn't Stiles doing anything? Did Derek do something wrong? What's wrong with--

"Derek, focus," Lydia scold him. "Don't focus on Stiles, focus on me." Shit, he hadn't meant to stop eating her out.

"Hey, can you hold your asscheeks open for me, Derek?" Stiles asks, squeezing a cheek gently. "I want both hands free to play with my hole." Derek feels a rush of relief--Stiles still likes his hole, still calls it his.

It's no harder to balance like this than with his hands behind his back, except now there's nothing but cold air on his hole, leaving him exposed to Stiles. Lydia's dripping, slickness building faster that he can eat it up, and he did that, he did that for her.

Stiles rubs a dry finger over his hole, drops close enough that his breath ghosts over it, making him clench in anticipation.

"Such a good boy, look how clean you got my hole. Were you hoping I'd put something in there? Did you think you'd be lucky enough to get my dick in there?" Stiles's voice is patronizing, but, not. It's condescending, it's maddening, its... he wants Stiles's dick in there.

Lydia's clit is so big that he can suck it into his mouth, let the flat of his tongue rub up against the base of it until Lydia's thighs are tight around his cheeks. It's dark and hot under her skirt, no light getting in-- not that he has his eyes open. Every breath goes onto Lydia's cunt, and the smell of it is thick in the enclosed air. It's making him a little light-headed.

Warm spit hits his crack, dribbles down onto his hole, and he hears Stiles sucking again to get more. There is lube nearby--he'd used it to fuck Stiles the other night--but that's not what this is about. A finger spreads the spit around his hole, rubbing it in before pressing against him, testing the muscle.

Stiles's hole is the kind of loose that a frequently fucked hole gets, the kind that can be fucked into without much preparation, but his isn't. Even if he were fucked as regularly as Stiles, his werewolf healing would still tighten it up after every fuck.

There are two of Stiles's fingers scissoring his hole by the time Lydia's knees draw close, and she grinds into his face, holding him in place with a tight hold on his collar, as she rides out her orgasm. He carries on sucking and lapping at her, gentling her through it until she pulls him away with a sharp tug on his collar.

The air outside of her skirt is cold on his wet face, he pants at the cool air, suddenly aware of how close it'd been down there. Lydia lets go of his collar and cups his face, rubbing her fingers over his swollen lips.

"Well done," she says, all lazy and relaxed. He struggles to hold his position without the mattress to help him balance. Lydia strokes his hair idly, as she comes down, he can still see her cunt wet and twitching from here. Lydia could go again, she could, and he wants to be back there, where's it's close and warm and--

He doesn't mean for the noise to come out, but Stiles strokes down firmly inside him and he feels his dick jerk. "Shhh," Stiles says, stroking his ass, avoiding the parts where Derek's hands are holding tight, keeping himself open. "If I want to play with my hole I will. Hold on to the frame of the bed for me, before you fall over." With a sigh of relief Derek reaches over and grabs hold of the bedframe, arching his back so Stiles still has good access.

"Stiles, do you want his mouth?" Lydia asks, still petting Derek's hair. "Or shall I help him not make any noise?"

"I'm good for now, clearly he needs something in there to keep him quiet." There's the sound of something being handed from Stiles to Lydia. Then a finger in the hinge of his jaw, forcing his mouth open.

The ball of the gag is hovering above his lips, when Lydia asks, "color?"

He swallows. "Green."

"And what's your non-verbal response?"

Derek taps once against the bed frame.

"Good boy." The gag is pressed into his mouth, and buckled firmly behind his head.

Lydia drops a kiss onto the shiny, red ball. He can already feel himself drooling around it, but now he doesn't have to worry about saying something he doesn't mean to, and he feels relieved.

Stiles is pressing two fingers down onto Derek's prostate, and has a thumb rubbing up against his perineum. Derek keens through the gag, because that's too much sensation, he can smell his cock dribbling onto the floor, and he doesn't want to come, he's not allowed to come.

"Stiles," Lydia scolds. "Don't grin at me like that, play nice. You don't want Derek to be punished, do you?"

"Of course not, I'd never get him into trouble." Stiles strokes down on his prostate again. Fuck, focus, focus, don't come.

Lydia tsks, and moves behind Derek. He doesn't like them both behind him, he likes being able to smell them, feel them. He hangs his head, bringing it closer to the mattress and the wet Lydia-scented spot left there. It's gone cold now, but it's still the strong scent of her. Of home, of pack.

"Such a good boy for us," Lydia coos, stroking his flank. "You're doing so well."

Yes, yes, he wants to do well, he wants to please them, to show them how much he enjoys this, how much he wants this-- Fuck. He bites down on the ballgag in his mouth. He's already left teethmarks all over it.


He taps once. Yes, yes, this is perfect.


One of them drizzles lube over his hole, and another finger is added, angling away from his prostate this time. Three must become four, because that's a thumb stroking the rim of his hole. "Breathe for me, Derek." Stiles' thumb tests the taut muscle of his hole. "I know my hole wants to take this for me, it wants to be good for me."

Derek does, Derek wants to be perfect for him.

"Take a deep breath, relax..." The thumb's pushing, trying to slip into the space the fingers are making. "Good boy, you're doing well, breathe in."

Derek can only breathe through his nose, the gag blocking his mouth, so he takes a steady breath in, another. The pressure's too much, Stiles's hands are too much, he knows they can fit, but he's too tight, it's too soon, but Stiles wants it, and he wants Stiles to have what he wants.

"And out. Good boy, opening up my hole for me, yeah. C'mon, take it for me. In..." Stiles's thumb slides in next to the others and Derek smushes his nose into Lydia's wet patch, breathing deep.

He's so full, Stiles' hand is so big inside of him. He thrusts in and out a couple of times, more slickness is added and then, then Stiles is pushing forward.

"...and out. You're doing so well for me, Derek, so good, taking it all for me, Lydia can't take all of me, you know, she can't even get all my fingers inside of her ass. But look at you, look at how my slutty hole is welcoming me in. Fuck, you're so beautiful."

Someone's playing with the thatch of hair that points to his cock. Finger walking down, down, down until there are nails scritching through the fuzz on his balls, a finger dropping down to massage the base of his cock-- Lydia. He wants to come, he wants to please them, he wants... The steady press of Stiles keeps going, pulling back a little only to press forward again, with all his weight behind it, stretching Derek's asshole wide open.

Lydia places a careful kiss on the tip of his cock, another just off to the side, and he can feel the stickiness of her lipgloss cooling on his dick.

"Almost there, Derek, you just got the knuckles and then you've done it, you've taken my whole fucking fist. Push back against me, uh huh, good boy." He tries to push back, but oh god, it's hard, it's so much. He keens because it's too much, it's way too much, there's the edge of pain, Lydia mouthing at his dick, which is still fucking hard, and Stiles, Stiles pushing into him slow, but relentlessly.

"You're so fucking beautiful, right now, Derek. If only you could see yourself, taking this for me. Push back, push back, good boy." The pressure inside him is endless, and gone are Lydia's soft lips, instead there's a firm hand around his cock and balls, pulling at them and fuck, fuck, thank fuck.

"You've not got permission to come, Derek. And it looks like you're in no place to ask for it, hm?" Lydia squeezes a little and he whimpers. He's so full, it's so intense, they're everywhere, all of his senses are filled with them.

"Yes!" Stiles cheers as the pressure on his rim eases a little. "You did it good for me, took my whole hand. Such a good boy." Stiles bends down and peppers kisses all over his ass cheeks, but god, it's so much, it's too much. Lydia's there, and Stiles is there, and he can't touch, and the feeling of all of Stiles's fist inside is so intense, it's so much, too much. He wants to... He needs to...

He taps his fingers twice, and there are hands undoing his ball gag almost instantly. Lydia's hands are off his dick and cradling his face.

"Derek?" She says, stroking a cheek, wiping at wetness there. Tears. He hadn't even noticed. "What's wrong? Do you need to stop?"

He takes a breath, then another, easier to breathe without the gag. Shakes his head. Stiles is keeping so very still behind him.

"You need to talk, honey. What happened? What's wrong?"

Words are hard, when he's like this, it's reached the point where his brains running a tiny bit slow, where the real world is there, but he's more like a detached observer. He'd been so close to what he needed, but it'd just-- got a little bit too intense for a minute. "I'm fine," he says, voice cracking. "Don't stop."

"Derek..." Stiles says, warily. "Do you want me to pull out?"

He shakes his head. "No!" Stiles is inside, and he wants-- he doesn't want that to stop, he doesn't want the feeling of fullness to go. "Don't go."

"Calm, calm," Stiles rests a hand at the small of his back. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm good, it's fine, we can carry on," Derek stumbles over the words in his haste to say them. "Don't stop, I didn't-- it was just a little bit overwhelming. It's fine now, give me my gag back, please."

Lydia looks away from him, hands still cupping his cheeks, he can tell her and Stiles are silently communicating. Talking about his fuck up over his head. He didn't, it was good, it was what he wanted, he just, it was a bit much so quickly, he wanted them to slow down, give him a moment to breathe, not to stop.

"Okay," Lydia says, after a moment. "We'll go on, but the gag stays out."

Derek frowns. "I want--"

"We want you safe, and you put us in control here. The gag stays off, or the scene ends."

Derek huffs, but it's his own fault, he should have just pushed on through.

"No, Derek," Stiles drops a kiss onto his back. "You did the right thing, and you're not being punished for it, we just want to look after you. Won't you let us look after you?"

He loves that they know him well enough to read him after all these years, but he hates it too. He drops his gaze, because he can't take the soft love in Lydia's eyes, tying in with the warmth in Stiles's voice. Lydia won't let him look away; she grasps his chin, tilts it up. "Derek, look at me. You did good, and you're not being punished. You understand that, yes?"

He nods, awkwardly because she's holding his head.

"Say it."

"I'm not being punished."

"Say you're a good boy."

Derek hesitates, because he's not, he's not a good boy. "I'm a good boy."

"Derek..." Lydia says, warningly. "You're such a good boy for us. Didn't you make me come? Didn't you take Stiles's whole fist? Aren't those things a good boy would do?"

Derek nods slowly, if Lydia believes it so much, it must... she must be right.

"Yeah they are." Stiles wraps a firm hand around his hip. "But it's not just that, you know how you feel right now? You want us so bad, don't you? Want to make us happy, want to take anything for us? You know what makes us happy? That you want us so much. So how you feel right now? That's perfect, that makes you a good boy."

"Stiles is right. So say it, honey." Lydia drops a kiss onto his lips. "Believe us."

Derek takes a breath, another. He wants them, he'd do anything for them, there's no doubt in his mind about that, and if that makes him a good boy... "I'm a good boy."

"Yeah you are." Stiles squeezes his hip. Lydia's smile is blinding.

"Now, ready to play again?"

He nods, and that's it, Lydia lets go of his face and sits back. "Good, now you deserve a reward, don't you?" Lydia strokes over his puffy lips, wetting them with his own saliva. "Let me think, what's your favourite, huh?"

Lydia keeps painting his lips with his spit as she debates.

Stiles moves his hand a little, and Derek's hole clenches around him. His hole has had time to get used to the stretch, but it's still full, so very full.

"What about his cockring?"

Lydia's face lights up. "Oh, you're right, he was already too hard when we got here earlier, but..." Yeah, Derek's softened a lot since he safeworded, probably enough that they can slip it on him. "Turn him around, so he can properly enjoy this."

Derek is pulled upright, held against Stiles with an arm thrown over his chest. It bends Stiles's arm at an awkward angle, for both Stiles and Derek, making Derek grunt with the effort. "Easy, Derek, easy. Let Lyds put this on you, and then I'll finish fist-fucking you."

She drops down onto her hands and knees, strokes lube over his dick. He grabs hold of Stiles's arm over his chest. "Shh," Stiles murmurs into his ear. "Almost over."

Lydia carefully eases the ring around his cock, tightens it up, and sits back to look at her work.

"Perfect." She strokes up his dick, slowly works it a few times until he's hard and snug, with no chance of his ring slipping off.

Lydia takes his hands in hers, and guides him forward, until he's on his hands and knees again. She settles in front of him, sitting back on her knees with her thighs closed. Derek can still smell her arousal from here, but she's obviously not interested in doing anything about it right now, because she's pulling his head forward until his cheek rests on her thigh.

Her pretty ginger pubes tickle the end of his nose, but it's good, because it means he's close to the musky smell of her. It blocks out everything else in the room, the smell of their clothes, the smell of the outside; it's just what he wants.

Stiles is carefully withdrawing his hand, pulling it until there are just a few fingers in him, before adding more lube and slowly pushing back in. Stiles's hands are big and bony; he can feel each individual knuckle as it pushes past his rim.

"I'm going to make the fist now, okay?" Stiles doesn't wait for an answer before the pressure in Derek's ass increases. Stiles draws his hand back like he would if he were fucking him, then he pushes forward, making Derek's cock jerk because he's so full, so full.

Stiles is bent over him now, his breath coming in hot pants against Derek's naked back. Every thrust of his arm makes Derek arch back into him, his body doing it without his permission, because he wants it faster, he wants it better. He mouths at Lydia's naked thigh, stretching his tongue out to try and touch the patch of hair at the apex of her cunt. He's so close, so close, and he can still taste her in his mouth, the earthy taste of her orgasm. Lydia soaking into every pore.

A hand comes around and wraps around his engorged cock. Every touch makes him shudder; he always feels too hard, way too hard in his ring. There's still lube on his cock and Stiles uses it to jerk him off slickly, slowly, in time with the shallow thrusts in his ass.

He whines and buries his face in Lydia's lap, clawing at the carpet, trying to find something to hold on to. He reaches a hand up to grab onto the bed frame and hears the wood creak.

Stiles laughs at that. "Good boy, good boy," he crows, twisting his fist over Derek's head. "Hear that, Lyds? He's so into it that he's making the bed creak."

Lydia snorts. "It's an old bed."

"It's not that old, we've got children older than it."


Derek lets his nails dig into the wood, he's all panting whimpers now, because Stiles's fist is pressing against his prostate on every pull, and the rest of his hole is so sensitive, so receptive to the touches. His nipples are literally aching to be touched and he drops his chest down so he can put them into contact with the floor, rubbing up against it.

"Aw, poor baby, are we neglecting your nipples, huh?" Stiles puts on his mock-patronizing voice. "Want us to do something about them?"

Derek nods, he's not capable of much more.

"You've had your go," Lydia says, and Derek whimpers as Stiles's hands still. "It's my turn."

He can hear the pout in Stiles's response, "but I'm not done yet."

"Hm, but look how close Derek is to coming. Any more and his pretty spunk will be wasted all over the floor."

It takes them a minute to pull out, switch places so his mouth is resting near Stiles's hard and leaking cock, and Lydia is stroking over his hole.

"Aw, look what Stiles has done, your hole's all wet and puffy, it can't even close itself." Lydia fucks in and out of his hole with one delicate finger. Derek tries to clench around it, but it's hard, he's so sloppy and loose.

"Your hand's tiny, it's not going to be enough for him," Stiles is sulking a little bit, Derek can hear it, so he darts his tongue out to get his first taste of Stiles's cock.

"It's not the size, it's what you do with it," Lydia tells him, haughtily.


Derek must take Stiles's silence as approval because he shifts his head forward, bringing his mouth nearer to Stiles's cock. Stiles cards his fingers through Derek's hair, nudging Derek even closer to his cock. "Are you trying to make me feel better because I'm not near my hole any more?"

Derek nods and raises up enough to mouth at the drops of precome on Stiles's cock.

"You're such a good boy, Derek, so considerate. You really want to please us, huh?"

Derek nods again and takes the head in his mouth and rubs the flat of his tongue against the frenulum. Stiles hisses sharply and his fingers tighten around the back of Derek's skull. Derek's mouth is fucking sinful. He's started drooling a bit, he probably doesn't even realise, just a little bit around the corners of his mouth. It's kind of adorable.

Sweat has plastered Derek's hair flat to his forehead as he starts mouthing down Stiles's cock. He's got no hands because he's using those to keep himself balanced, but that makes it all the more beautiful.

Stiles knows he doesn't look as good on his knees, doesn't take it as well as Derek does. Derek was fucking made for this. Derek grunts as Lydia does something; the glee in her eyes says she's got her fist in him. He should be able to take it easily after having Stiles.

Stiles wants to touch him everywhere, settles for running his hands over the trembling muscles of Derek's shoulder. He trails his hands up, until he's at the worn leather of Derek's collar. He remembers when they had gotten it for him new, the way he'd resisted the collar, the idea that Lydia was trying to degrade him, make him an animal. Derek whose expression now calms the second the collar's buckled around his neck, who treats it like a fucking security blanket.

A guttural groan vibrates along his cock as Stiles slides a hand under the collar, cutting off any slack. Stiles meets Lydia's gaze over the naked expanse of Derek. Her hand is pumping in and out of Derek, his hips slamming back to every thrust and he finds himself grinning at her.

"Isn't he such a perfect puppy for us?" Lydia says, slapping his ass. Derek swallows around his cock.

Stiles grunts at that, pulling Derek's collar so it bites into the soft flesh of his neck. "He's doing so well, so good for us," he directs it at Lydia, but knows Derek is can hear the words. Talking over him, treating him like a treasured pet, that gets Derek off, he knows it does, has seen it work countless times.

Derek's eyes are half closed and Stiles can almost see him slipping in the space he craves, the rush of endorphins flooding his system, making him dozy, slow, uncoordinated. He sucks Stiles's dick like it's the only thing in the world; he rocks with Lydia's thrusts.

It's hard not to come with Derek blowing him like this, like there's nothing in the world but Stiles's dick, but he can't come yet, he can't, because that wouldn't be fair, because Derek needs him not to, because Derek wants this to go on forever.

"C'mon Derek," he urges, tightens the collar more, until Derek's breaths are sharp and short. "Take it, take it for us."

"Stiles, Stiles..." Lydia calls, there's sweat on her brow, her hair in disheveled disarray, and she's still wearing her skirt. "I want to fuck him, help me get him onto the bed."

Derek whines when Lydia pulls out from his ass, lets out a mewl of disappointment when Stiles takes his cock away. "Shh, c'mon Derek, you know you want to be good for me, good for Lydia, huh? We need you on the bed."

Derek's thighs are shaking as they help him onto the bed. He lies there, Lydia putting a pillow under his head. His cock is a deep red, curving toward his stomach and dribbling onto the thick hair of his treasure trail, the hair there stiff and coarse enough that the come is suspended on the strands as little beads.

"Honey," Lydia says, stroking Derek's cheek. Her hair is blocking his face from view but Stiles knows what expression will be there. He's seen it a hundred times before: blissed out confusion. "Honey, I need a colour from you."

There silence for a few moments, and then the quietest whisper, "Green."

"Good boy, good boy," Lydia praises and pulls back. "Now we're gonna fuck you, and you're going to lie there and take it, because you love anything we give you. Isn't that true?"

Derek blinks up at her, Stiles strokes a hand over his brow, and Derek cranes his head up to look at Stiles, stares wordlessly at him as well, but butting his head into Stiles's touch. Stiles loves when they've fucked all the snark out of Derek.

Lydia straddles Derek's thighs, raising herself up she grasps hold of his cock, rubbing it through her folds, wetting it up before she sinks down on it. She starts riding Derek slowly, grinding herself back and forth, her eyes fluttering as she takes what she wants from him. Derek's hands are grasping the bedsheets now, pulling them taut as he pants into every thrust, eyes sliding half-closed.

"Gonna fuck your mouth," Stiles tells him, drawing the wet tip of his cock in a line over Derek's cheek, leaving behind a smear of precome.

It takes a little positioning to pin Derek's head with a knee on either side, but Derek's mouth falls open without any prompting, an eager look in his eyes like he can't wait to get Stiles's cock in there. It doesn't mean Stiles doesn't take a moment to paint Derek's lips with his precome. All over him, marking his space, his husband.

It's a shit angle for fucking into Derek's mouth, but fuck, he doesn't need that much leverage, not with the suction, the wet heat wrapping itself around his dick. Even fucked out Derek still knows how to suck a cock, it's like a second nature to him.

"Take it take it take it," he chants, looking over his shoulder to watch Lydia riding Derek's cock. She's got a hand where they're joined, probably working her clit. She's got her other hand tangled in her hair, little breathy moans coming out as she rides Derek like he's a fucking race horse. Derek's breathing harshly through his nose, and Stiles has to slow for a moment to check he's still okay with everything that's going on. Derek makes a noise of disappointment at Stiles's slowed thrusts, eyes opening more to glare up at him. Stiles laughs out loud. "Yeah, yeah, don't worry, I won't stop."

"Yeah, yeah Derek, you're so big and good inside me," Lydia braces a hand on Stiles's shoulder for balance as she fucks Derek.

He wants to pull at Derek's collar again, knows how much he gets off on that, especially when he's this slack and pliant beneath their hands. But, the angle's for shit, if he did he'd have to worry about Derek's breathing more than he's comfortable with, so he settles for stroking the leather, occasionally tugging at it, a little, not as much as either of them probably want. Every tug makes Derek buck up beneath them, making Lydia grunt.

"Stiles, Stiles, I'm close," Lydia tells him, her pace picking up, getting an erratic edge to it.

He's not far off; his cock's drenched in Derek's spit, his husband's lips are stretched obscenely over his cock, and for a little bit there'll be bruises at the corner of his mouth. Stiles can't wait to see them.

"I could be there," Stiles tells her. "I'm almost there."

Derek whines around his cock and it strikes him they've not given him permission to come in the cock ring, if he even can--sometimes it's too tight for Derek. "If you can come before us, you get to come," Stiles tells Derek. "Otherwise... you'll have to wait for one of us to be ready again before you can come."

Stiles picks up his pace, and Lydia's fingers dig into the soft flesh of his shoulder as she does too. It's a race now, to see who can come first, who can fuck their way to victory.

His balls are drawing up close to his body and he can feel the tightening in his gut, so close, so close, so fucking close. He fucks into Derek's mouth as much as the angle will allow, giving up caring if Derek can breathe or not, because it'll be over soon, so soon. Derek's throat is slick and relaxed for him, and he can fuck right in, even as he feels Lydia's nails digging into his shoulder as she goes fucking wild behind him.

"Fuck!" She curses as the bed shakes with the force of her orgasm. Derek's still thrusting up into her, frantically trying to come before Stiles does, or at least frantically trying to come.

He's not even sure if Derek is processing what they're saying to him anymore, even realises how he's driving into Lydia, just blindly thrusting with an almost animalistic need. There's a moment and then Derek's keening around his cock, Stiles pulls out for a moment as Derek thrashes, eyes screwed shut as he comes.

It takes a couple of minutes, nothing but their harsh panting filling the room, before he reaches a hand down to cradle Derek's head, and unfocused eyes open and stare at him, mouth gone slack, just laying there and letting Stiles give it to him. "Yeah, yeah, Derek," Stiles coaxes and gets a soft whine from Derek, a swallow around his cock. Derek's good, Derek's fine, but he's almost past being able to react, he's so far gone.

Now Lydia's not using him for balance he's free to lean forward, to fuck into Derek like he wants. He leans forward and fucks into Derek's mouth, watching his cock disappear over and over and over again into red stretched lips and fuck, fuck, the ball of pleasure starts in his groin and rises, rises, rises and crests in a wave, breaking down in a way that has him stutterfucking into Derek, shooting his load into a willing throat with no warning for Derek.

Stiles pulls his cock out and lets himself fall to the side to enjoy the last burning bits of pleasure coursing through him. Lydia's pulled herself off too, and she falls to the side next to him.

He's hot and panting but Derek, he's got to look after Derek. "Cock ring," he says to Lydia.

"I got it." She's already there, reaching over to carefully unsnap it, wiping some come off of Derek's cock as she does. When it's off, tossed to the side for later cleaning, a few more dribbles of come leave Derek's cock.

Derek's laying there, legs akimbo and eyes hooded. Stiles doesn't resist the urge to lean down and kiss Derek, gentle kisses in contrast to the hard fucking he's just given Derek's lips.

There's still Stiles's come in Derek's mouth; he's not really bothered to swallow much at all. Stiles chases as much as he can, pulls back and tells Derek to push it into his mouth.

Stiles spits it into his hand, he knows where he wants to put this, where Derek will love it. He tugs at Derek's hip. "Roll over."

Slowly Derek does. There's still lube smeared down his ass crack, and when Stiles parts his cheeks his hole is still gaping a little, like it knows what's about to come and has been waiting for it. Stiles pushes his come into Derek's abused hole, gets little globs of it as far in as he can.

"There you go," he says, with a caress to Derek's asscheek. "Right where it belongs. What do you say?"

Derek's cheek is pressed to the mattress so he's facing Stiles. Blown pupils meet his as Derek carefully says, "Th'nk you, Stiles. M're?"

He's slurring his words a little, he does when he's still floating on a chemical high.

Lydia kneels up next to him, spreads her legs and pushes two fingers inside herself. A moment later she's got Derek's own come and her juices out of her cunt, and she pushes that inside him too. "There you go, Derek." She pats his asscheek. "All the come for you."

He lets out a little sigh, and reaches out a hand toward them. It only takes a second for Lydia to maneuver Derek into a better position, for Stiles to grab a wet cloth and wipe him down quickly. They settle in, with Lydia and Stiles wrapped either side of Derek. Their legs are tangled; Stiles has one thrown over both Derek and Lydia. They're so interwound that separating them would be like taking apart a single person.

It's quiet for a few moments, Derek's breath is steady between them, slowing in a way that says he'll slip toward sleep quickly. Stiles is post-orgasmic lazy, but still kinda wired. He looks over Derek's head and sees Lydia's eyes still open.

"I think you can agree I'm the victor in this game."

Lydia snorts. "I told you everyone was a winner."

"I know, but, anything you can do, I can do better," he parrots, pulling Derek tight against him.

"In which case, I clearly won."

"Are you kidding? I totally pwned! He was so close to coming when I had my fist in him, he left scratches in the carpet!"

"Yeah but when I was fisting him, he actually left dents in the frame of the bed!"

"It's wood!"

"The carpet's old!"

"The wood's soft!"

"The carpet might have already had scratch marks on it!"


Derek snorts and snuggles down between the two of them, leaving them to their bickering. From down here he can hear the steady thrum of their hearts, saying home home home. He feels exhausted--worn out, but the good kind, and lighter than he's felt in days. He's relaxed enough that he's asleep between one breath and the next.