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Stiles wonders if it’s a wolf thing; if a majority of them are stupidly rich and Scott is just unfortunate, because the numbers he sees scrolling past his eyes right now are bordering on obscene.

 

Okay, so Stiles is hardly one to judge what people do with their money, especially as he’s sitting here with the intention of taking some of what is being offered.

 

The website itself is niche to say the least. He only knows about it because of Erica, who was laughing about it during their last group dinner, scoffing at the wolves who would use it. Boyd had snorted and tightened his grip on her, and what did they even know about needing rutting partners? They had each other. Isaac had looked confused at the prospect and wondered why rich wolves didn’t just go out and pick someone to fuck. Scott, too, had seemed bemused, confused, and had joined in the laughing just to not feel left out. Derek had frowned, staring at the wall ahead of him and offering not much commentary. But then Derek was hardly Mr. Conversation Man. And Stiles? Stiles had laughed along, sure, but it was only a cover up, because money and knotting are two things high up on his list of stuff he is passionate about, and okay maybe he doesn’t have actual experience with knotting, but God if he doesn’t want to, and if the thought of it doesn’t make him come so, so hard-

 

So rutting.com is absolutely one thousand percent up his alley. Lonely, stupidly rich wolves who want to pay stupid money to someone to spend their ruts with them; humans or wolves or anyone else willing to spend a week getting fucked and knotted and covered in wolf come and God damn that’s Sties’ dream.

 

He’s opened an account, (he at least gave himself a courtesy ten minutes once he got home that night before he logged on and signed up) and initially he’d felt a little put out about the fact that he is required to provide pictures, but the paying clients aren’t. They can choose who they like the look of and Stiles’ half of the equation are just flying blind. But once the initial indignation has worn off, Stiles finds a certain thrill in the feeling of being brought like a sex toy by someone he has never seen.

 

And the money is really ridiculous.

 

Sure it might be dangerous, too, but his sign up screen has a list of assurances about the clients (Stiles feels more and more like a hooker every time he reads that word) and tells him that they’re all vetted (he laughs and wants to high five the person who wrote this as a credit to their dog joke) before their profiles are approved.

 

Stiles scrolls through and clicks his preferences. Male. Between twenty and thirty. Location? Beacon Hills is big enough that he’s not too worried about giving himself away. Location of partner? He mulls that over for a moment, but since he’s going to have to take a week off to be a personal flesh light for someone he might as well go the distance. He clicks ‘willing to travel’.

 

Then comes a list of his...other preferences. Stiles’ eyes widen at the amount of things he can select or not select, which go from tame to well shit.

 

He selects dirty talk (he kind of wants to be called ‘bitch’ whilst being fucked by a wolf), non-scarring marking, biting, bondage, plugging, knotting (he wants to quadruple click that, but there isn’t an option), half-shift sex? Yes please. He hovers for a moment over the question of whether he’d like to be shared between more than one wolf. But perhaps this time no. Not the first time. BDSM? He’ll go for some of that. Watersports? Well, wolves do like to mark their territory. Pet play? Stiles has seen a lot of that in his porn searches, and he admits he’d be kind of into it, so yep, pet play is a go. Versatile roles? Well shit, if his wolf friend wants to be fucked Stiles can provide. Barebacking. Yep, not like wolves can pass on anything. Full shift sex?

 

Stiles’ eyes widen even more. Full shift sex? He knows that isn’t a common thing for wolves to be able to do. He knows there’s only a few who achieve it. Does he want to be fucked- does he want to be fucked by a wolf in full form? Bent over and mounted by an animal, for all visual intents and purposes? Well, who’s going to tell? Who’s going to know that Stiles suddenly desperately wants that more than he wants anything else?

 

He clicks yes, his dick throbbing between his legs.



Stiles has a few good photos from other dating sites that he knows will do for a start, ones that he got Scott and Kira and Lydia to okay for him, and a few racier ones that he'd hesitantly shown to Erica for approval. They're all good. To start. But the site also allows more explicit pictures that are locked to friends only, and Stiles thinks that if he's going to compete with everyone else on here to live out his ultimate fantasies, then he needs to nail his picture game.

 

He puts his camera at the end of his bed and takes the remote control in hand, stripping down to his underwear. Underwear he then changes for his tightest, whitest pair. This is going to show off the focal point of his partner's desires, after all.

 

He bends, lifting his bottom, presenting. Even the word sends a little thrill through him. He pressed the button on the remote and hears it click, then shifts slightly, taking another, followed by a few more, adjusting his position every time. His cock is hardening slowly between his legs, and his brain slips back to the question on the profile, the full shift rutting and fuck, he hadn't known he'd wanted that until he’d known it was something he might be able to have. His cock fills rapidly between his legs and he groans, settling down onto his sheets. He takes a few seconds, enjoying the pressure of pressing his dick into the firm mattress, before he turns towards the camera and kneels up, taking a picture of his erection straining against the white material of his underwear.

 

Stiles peels his underwear off, tossing them to the side and, flushed and hard, turns over again, presenting his naked bottom to the camera. He closes his eyes as he snaps the pictures, imagining a big, strong wolf looking at him, looking at what he's offering, pushing into his tightness and fucking him, holding him down, praising him for being a good little bitch. He wonders if he can slick himself up enough that his wolf will purr and compliment him on how wet he is.

 

Stiles' cock aches. He hopes his wolf won't hold back on knotting him, hopes they're not gentle, because Stiles has wanted this since he knew what knotting was, and that his wolf friends could do it. He has a toy, a big thick dildo that he uses when he wants to try and replicate how that might feel-

 

He needs it now. So badly. Once again he turns over, rolling onto his back and reaching into his bedside table for lube and the toy he hides deep beneath pens and scraps of paper, tissues, leaflets, anything unincriminating. He has no intention of taking the time to open himself, just slicks up the toy and presses its blunt head against his entrance. His body resists, but Stiles wants it, toes curling against the burn as he pushes it into his body, crying out as his muscles stretch. He takes another picture, the click of the lens making him moan, his toy slipping in a little deeper. He wants someone this thick, wants to be stretched like this without his own defensive hesitance getting in the way.

 

“Alpha-” Stiles whines, thrusting the toy a little, pulling it out and pushing it back in. “Fuck me, Alpha-” he whimpers. His favourite fantasy. He hopes his wolf won’t hesitate in holding him down, won’t worry about Stiles being human. But of course they won’t, it’s their rut, they just want to fuck, and that’s exactly what he’s providing himself for. “Yes. Yes, deeper-” he breathes, forcing the toy in, relishing the feeling of his precome dribbling over his belly. He lets go of the camera control and wraps his fingers around his dick, stroking roughly. “Yes, Alpha. Yes. You feel so big- keep going. Deeper-” He manages to get it deeper still, his body stretching around the head of it. Pleasure is spiking in his belly, he’s sweating lightly, and Stiles lets out little whines and whimpers. He really has watched a lot of porn, he can make pretty noises that his Alpha will like, he’s sure.

 

“Alpha, Alpha-” Stiles mewls, pushing his toy in deep enough that it just brushes his prostate. His muscles grip down on it and his hand moves faster as he circles the dildo to make it rub that spot over and over until he’s so close. “Yes. I’m there, I’m there, please-” he gasps. “I’m there, I’m coming, I’m coming, Alpha-”

 

He tenses as arches as his orgasm rips through him, covering his chest and belly and neck in ropes of come. Stiles keeps jerking, milking himself until it’s almost painful. Only then does he let his hand drop away, reaching for the camera remote again, snapping a few pictures of his come-coated skin, toy still pressed inside him, his dick red and pulsing against his stomach.

 

He can’t wait for a wolf to find him. To choose him. He can’t wait for this to be real.

 

 

***

 

Derek had spent his last rut, four months ago, alone. The one before that he’d picked up a girl who had said all the right things but had only lasted two days into his rut before she’d complained that she was bored of the sex and had gone home.

 

He’d signed up to the website only a few days before Erica had brought it up at one of the pack gatherings, and he had been mortified. He was sure that she knew, he was sure that she’d probably found his account or he’d left his laptop open on the table and she’d seen, but then again he’s even more certain that she would have made a harder campaign to humiliate him personally if she’d actually known.

 

Despite that, Derek isn’t ashamed of his profile. It’s a lot more tasteful than a lot of the other wolves on there, and he isn’t offering a gross amount of money, but he intends to make sure his rutting partner is taken good care of. He already has a location in mind, far from his den here, that he’s going to take them to, to make sure they have privacy but also a luxurious experience.

 

A lot of the offerings on the site have been- Derek doesn’t want be rude, but they’re desperate little fetishists, who probably won’t really enjoy the event once they’re wrapped up in it. They have pictures of them dressed sluttily, a few of them wearing ears and tails and Derek skips right past them. He isn’t interested in that kind of thing. He’s sent friend requests to a couple of potential partners, only to get crass messages back from them, crass or badly spelt, and sure, maybe Derek is only looking for a fuck, but there’s down time in between when he wants to be able to hold a conversation with his lover.

 

He has that written on his profile, his list of likes that aren’t necessarily sexual. Reading, languages, cooking, movies. He’s sure none of the non-wolves on this site are reading that. They see his age, his location maybe, and the money he’s offering, the words ‘luxury accommodation’, and that’s it. He doubts any of them even look through his wants, and even fewer would have reached the point where they’ve read about his hobbies and interests.

 

There’s twenty three friend requests waiting in the time it’s taken him to shower, dress, and make coffee. The other notifications in the bottom of the screen tell him there are new mates in his area. They make it sound a lot less sordid than it is.

 

Derek clicks on the new offerings and scrolls through slowly, looking at the pictures, the usernames, rolling his eyes. His coffee cup is halfway to his lips when he notices- when he sees-

 

“No-” he breathes, though it’s not displeasure. Shock, if anything. He clicks on the profile for LittleRed and yeah, that’s Stiles. It’s one hundred percent Stiles. Not that Derek is proud of the fact that he could tell his friend from the tiny icon displayed on screen before he clicks to open the profile. He has full face pictures, so Derek can hardly be left uncertain. Stiles is on this website looking for a wolf to rut with him. The thought excites Derek a lot more than he was aware it would. Stiles. Stiles wants this. Derek wants this. He has to have him-

 

That thought pushed aside for analysis later, Derek scrolls through the pictures, smiling at the way Stiles tries to make himself look sexy. Stiles doesn’t realise he doesn’t have to try, that he’s distractingly good looking without posing. Not that Derek doesn’t appreciate the way his eyes glow softly in one of the photos, or the way his skin seems more beautiful and pale in certain outfits.

 

He isn’t expecting the next picture. The one of Stiles bent over in white boxers, presenting himself to the screen.

 

Derek’s cock jumps in his jeans and he lets out a breath, slamming his coffee cup down on the table with a force that makes the liquid spill over his hand and onto the wood. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything but convincing Stiles to share his rut with him. Again, he’ll wait until later to think about this properly, but his wolf is taking the reigns right now and his wolf knows what it wants.

 

He stares at his friend’s ass, licking his lips and almost purring with desire. Stiles is presenting, and he could have him presenting to him. His wolf is certainly happy with the choice.

 

The next picture nearly kills him, though. Stiles kneeling up, looking coy, his big amber eyes fixed on the camera as his cock strains in his underwear. It isn’t as though Derek hasn’t maybe thought about this once or twice, hasn’t done a double take on Stiles before, but he’s seemed out of reach. Now, though, now it feels as though barriers in his brain have been ripped down and all he wants is Stiles. As though all he’s ever wanted is Stiles.

 

His cock pulses between his legs, and he moves his mouse up to click on the friend request button. He’s going to send a message. He doesn’t want Stiles to know it’s him, though. Not until they’re face to face. It seems safer that way. He wants to seduce Stiles and not just say he’s going to offer Stiles what he wants, because the odds are Stiles would just laugh in his face and call him a creeper wolf and then go off with someone else.

 

Stiles doesn't know him as seductive. Hell, Stiles barely even knows him as a nice guy. But they’ve been apart a long time-

 

Derek takes a moment to scroll through Stiles’ profile, even though he knows everything about h-

 

His eyes scan down Stiles’ list of preferences and Derek whimpers. All of these things- dirty talk, barebacking, marking, biting… then watersports, fuck. BDSM? Half-shift… Derek drops his gaze to the bottom of the list and lets out a groan. Stiles is interested in full shift sex? Derek- he can provide. His wolf would be more than happy to oblige.

 

Derek’s hand is pressed between his legs, rubbing his stiffening cock. Thinking about Stiles. Thinking about Stiles beneath him whilst his wolf takes him. Calling Stiles his good boy. His pup. His mate. Filling him, coming on him-

 

It’s two weeks until his rut and he doesn’t know if he can keep his hands off of Stiles until then. He’ll have to try, though. And not give the himself away.

 

Derek scrolls up to send a message. He doesn’t know what to write, he doesn’t know if he should say something dirty or if he should try and be seductive or-

 

Derek licks his lips. Well, if this doesn’t work he’ll just go with Plan B; confront Stiles and see if they could do something about this, seeing as they tick each others boxes so well. Literally.

 

I want you

 

He keeps it simple. Hits send. Hopes Stiles at least accepts his friend request because he wants to see those explicit pictures. No one else will do now. He’s not going to bother looking through any other offerings. He wants Stiles. Goddamn. He wants Stiles.

 

Derek opens his jeans and shoves his hands into his boxers, wrapping his fingers around his dick. He flicks back to the pictures, flicks to Stiles on his bed with his bottom raised in the air as an offering. He doesn’t know how much experience Stiles has sexually, but he bets the kid has a filthy mouth on him. He’s sure of that. He’s seen Stiles’ list of kinks now, and how willing he is to display himself on the internet.

 

Derek desperately wants to see those explicit pictures. But he’s going to have to live with imagining for now. He can do that. Stiles on all fours for him, offering up his ass that’s already nicely slicked up, possibly with Derek’s come. Stiles would smell of sex and arousal, whimpering (Derek wonders if Stiles has looked up what happens when wolves fuck. He’s pretty sure he has, because Stiles doesn’t do things by halves.) So he’ll whimper for Derek, whimper as his alpha presses a hand to his shoulders to hold him down as he lines up behind him, rubbing the head of his cock against that beautiful hole, teasing the rim, smearing precome over it before he pushes in without prep. WIthout any more foreplay. Just right into the tight heat of his mate’s body. He hopes that Stiles is loud. He hopes he makes a lot of noise or talks as he’s being fucked until he can’t form sentences.

 

He tightens his grip on his dick to mimic the tightness of Stiles’ body, jerking up and down, eyes half lidded and fixed on the screen. His hips lift to push into his fist, wanting it to be the boy’s ass. He hopes one time he can take it slow, he hopes he can spend his time rolling his hips, basking in the tightness, setting up a rhythm that teases both of them.

 

A gentle ping breaks him out of his fantasy for a second and he blinks towards the popup in the corner.

 

LittleRed has accepted your friend request.

 

Derek blinks again, looks at the words, and then clicks on the picture gallery he has open, scrolls past Stiles kneeling there, hard and wanting, and hits the first explicit picture.

 

He whimpers, his cock spurting precome against his stomach as he looks at the uncensored version of the photograph he was just jerking off to. Stiles’ backside, his soft, pale cheeks, the little moles that kiss his skin, up the back of his thighs, all over his bottom, one or two between his cheeks.

 

Derek wants to lick them. He wants to run his tongue between them and find the moles and then kiss the tight little hole that Stiles is showing off to the world. He wants to eat him out, fuck him with his mouth. He’s never been so enamoured with anyone’s ass before, especially not been so fixated on their entrance when he’s not about to fuck it, but he can’t stop staring. He wants to touch and lick and run his fingers around the sensitive rim.

 

As he looks, Derek’s hand moves rapidly up and down his cock, the tip dribbling precome freely down his shaft. His other hand clicks on the next picture and Derek nearly comes. Stiles spread out, hard, a toy pressed in that tiny hole, stretching him open. Fuck. Fuck. He growls, hating that there are other wolves looking at this, other wolves flirting with Stiles, talking to him, offering him money for sex. He doesn’t even know if Stiles is planning to do this a lot, over and over again with other wolves through their ruts. Derek doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to share. He wants him. He wants to pull Stiles down onto his cock and keep him there, bounce him up and down in his lap until he fills him with his come, until his knot stretches Stiles open. Because he wants it. Stiles wants to be knotted. He’ll give his boy anything he wants.

 

Derek groans again, feeling his knot swelling as he thinks about it. It’s not as big as it will be when he’s buried inside Stiles, but it’s there, and he’s so close. There’s one more picture but Derek wants to look at this one-

 

“You’d take it, wouldn’t you?” he asks Stiles’ photo, eyes fixed on the poor ring of muscle that’s been stretched around the toy. “Take all my dick. Let me spread you open. You wanna feel my knot-” Derek breathes. “Fuck. Stiles. I wanna breed you-” he whispers, hand speeding up more until he’s teetering on the edge. There’s another little ping but Derek ignores it, feeling his fangs dropping slightly, claws on his free hand lengthening and digging into the arm of his chair. “Gonna fill you full of my come-” Stiles will let him fuck him in his wolf form. Stiles will let Derek mount him and thrust into him and knot him in his wolf form.

 

Derek whines and paints his chest with his come, the pleasure almost blinding him. He strokes himself until he’s spent, laying back on his desk chair with his eyes closed, dick still pulsing softly in his hand.

 

With bleary eyes he finally reaches over to click on the last picture, whining again when he sees Stiles naked, covered in come. Beautiful boy. He’s going to be Derek’s.

 

***

 

Stiles is a little smug about the amount of hits he has when he next logs onto the website. He has nineteen friend requests and twenty one new messages. Most of the request correspond to a message, so he can vet them easily.

 

The first message is long, sloppy almost, full of words of how much the wolf is going to take care of Stiles and worship him. Which is great, but if the guy is going to treat Stiles like a fragile ornament then he’s not interested.

 

Next one is full of poor grammar and spelling mistakes, and Stiles might be about to take someone’s money in exchange for sex, but he has some standards.

 

Third says simply ‘I wanna bite yo ass and suck yo titties’ and Stiles isn’t into that.

 

The fourth talks about his cunt. Which- maybe he could be into, but not right off the bat.

 

The fifth message tells Stiles that it’s author wants to make him bleed. No thank you.

 

The next few are actually interesting responses, genuine messages that pique his interest, complimenting him on how pale he is, how beautiful his backside looks, how they want to fuck him and fill him up. A trip to their profiles isn’t too shoddy either. One of them is a chef, one of them is a businessman of sorts, another ‘owns property’ which is great. He adds them all as friends, even if one of them has bloodplay on his list of kinks, and another might want him in a diaper. None of them say they can full shift, but that’s hardly a deal breaker.

 

He types out some responses and sends them off, then carries on scrolling through the rejects and the ones that are coming on slightly too strong.

 

His most recent message is very blunt. To the point.

 

I want you.

 

For some reason that’s kind of more flattering than the longer, more descriptive, more specific messages he’d read before. There’s something kind of primal to it, kind of possessive, and Stiles likes it. He looks on the profile and his brow furrows slightly. This guy, this wolf, seems like a normal person. He enjoys things. Has normal hobbies. Is offering to take them to somewhere nice for the duration of his rut. Which is appealing. He’s making offers to take care of the person he chooses, which is- kind. Thoughtful.

 

His eyes skim down some more, read over the list of likes, none of which are particularly concerning. Then at the bottom….

 

Full shift. The guy can full shift.

 

Stiles wants him. Whoever this is.

 

LittleRed: That’s very to the point. Your message.

 

There’s no reply, but he doesn’t expect a message straight away. One of the others have replied, though call him fickle, he’s decided who he wants. But there’s no harm in having some back ups.

 

He’s half-heartedly replied to a message about having his ass eaten when he sees another message pop up.

 

ThirdSpiral: I didn’t see the point in beating around the bush. I want you. We’d work well together.

 

LittleRed: Well, all my other suitors are a little more descriptive in what they want.


Stiles hits send and then worries if he shouldn’t have been so- was he rude? Because he does have other suitors but he doesn’t want them like this.

 

ThirdSpiral: You want me to tell you everything I want to do to you? I was going to surprise you-

 

LittleRed: Give me clue?

 

Stiles sits apprehensively. He wants this man, this wolf, to tell him things, to work him up, to give him something to jerk off to.

 

ThirdSpiral: I’m going to tease you. A lot. I’m going to edge you. I’m going to make you call me Alpha as I spread you open. You’re going to beg for my cock inside you. Then I’m going to fill you. I’m going to fuck you into the bed, we’ll make it slam against the wall. Everyone will know what we’re doing, because they’ll hear you. I want you to be nice and loud for me. I won’t stop when I start to knot you, though. I’ll keep fucking until I can’t move anymore, until I’m shaking you with the bed and I’m caught on your rim and rubbing again and again on your prostate-

 

 

Stiles sits back and reads, his mouth dry, his cock throbbing between his legs.

 

LittleRed: I want you to knot me.

 

It seems stupid, he feels dumb for having typed that out, but most of his blood supply is in his dick now.

 

ThirdSpiral: You want me to mount you, too, don’t you?

 

 

Stiles whimpers, wrapping his fingers around his cock.

 

LittleRed: Yes

 

ThirdSpiral: Yes, what?

 

LittleRed: Yes, Alpha.

 

ThirdSpiral: Good boy.

 

 

The words are only typed on the screen, but Stiles still preens at the praise.

 

ThirdSpiral: You’re going to lay on your belly and present to me. You’re going to stay there as I climb on you in my wolf form. You’ll take my dick like the good boy you are, take it as I fuck you.

 

LittleRed: Yes. Yes Alpha.

 

Stiles strokes himself slowly. The thought of being mounted by a full grown wolf, fully shifted, has only been a possible possibility. But now- now he can make it happen, he can make it so, and it’s hurting with how turned on it’s making him.

 

ThirdSpiral : We’re going bareback. You’ll feel me come inside you. I’ll knot you and then fill you with my come.

 

Stiles’ hand moves faster, biting down on his lip. He has to type with one hand, so it’s not as fast as he’d like, and sure he could stop jerking off in order to type properly but-

 

LittleRed: You read all the other stuff I ticked?

 

ThirdSpiral: Yes.

 

He wouldn’t want to admit it out loud to anyone, but he kind of likes the gruffness of that reply. It reminds him a little bit of Derek. But Derek would never talk like this. Not that Stiles has ever thought about Derek in bed, not much, but he doesn’t imagine that he’s vocal or rough or filthy.

 

A little thrill runs through him at the thought of this wolf. His wolf-

 

LittleRed: Is there anything else you want to do to me?

 

ThirdSpiral: I’m going to do everything to you, pup. My rut is usually four days, but if you can stay and play a while longer I’ll make sure you’re satisfied. I’ll take care of you.

 

Stiles’ breaths come out shorter and harder. He knows it’s an alpha’s instinct to care for their mate, to make them happy and comfortable. He might just be rutting with this guy, but he’s still an alpha, and apparently the instinct rolls over to that. It makes sense. And the domesticity of it turns him on even more, which is just stupid.

 

LittleRed: I can. I can stay.

 

He’s so close, Stiles leans back on the chair, exposing his neck and wondering how much his wolf would love that, how much he’d like Stiles offering himself to him. How much he’d like his scent. If he’d bite gently, if he’d leave bruises over Stiles’ pale skin-

 

He comes suddenly, gasping as he covers his belly with his orgasm.

 

ThirdSpiral: It’s going to be in two weeks. I’ll book us a hotel. Near Beacon Hills. Then you can leave easily if you want to. Maybe the Sheridan. And we’ll discuss your pay when you’re ready.

 

It takes Stiles a few minutes to have a clear enough head to look at his screen again. To see the message. The dirty talk has done it for him, absolutely, but the consideration that accompanies it makes warmth curl inside Stiles in a different way. He doesn’t even think about the money, or the hotel of choice which is ridiculously opulent. That the wolf has chosen Beacon Hills because it’s near Stiles’ home, that it’s specifically because Stiles will feel comfortable there, that’s what really gets him.

 

LittleRed: Thank you, Alpha.

 

 

 

Derek is hard again. It doesn’t help at all that he knows this is Stiles. That he already knows what Stiles smells like in every way, That he knows he’s going to like it when Stiles is pressed beneath him, when he’s got his nose buried against Stiles’ neck. He wants Stiles beautifully talkative when he’s being fucked, or at least loud. Loud will do nicely. And he clearly has a good imagination.

 

He hadn’t shirked away when Derek had talked about mounting him.

 

That’s all Derek can think about now. He’s pushed his laptop to the side and is on his bed, his cock freed from his jeans so that he can rub it against the mattress. He hasn’t shifted, though he knows his claws are out, his teeth have lengthened- He’s obviously thinking of Stiles,  of all that beautiful skin, imagining what his backside will look like presented to Derek when he can touch and kiss, not just on the other side of a computer screen. Pale skin littered with moles, the secret little ones between his cheeks-

 

Derek growls, rolls his hips, rubs down- he’s smearing precome on the sheets but he really doesn’t care. He’s never really grown out of rutting against the mattress like a teenager.

 

Two weeks. Two weeks and he’ll have Stiles beneath him. Fuck, he didn’t know why he hadn’t realised this before. He could have had Stiles months and months ago. Another growl rips from him when he thinks of the fact that he nearly missed his chance, that Stiles could have been with another wolf. No. That won’t happen. Stiles is his. He’s going to make sure no other wolf touches him.

 

Derek’s hips piston faster, rolling against his bed, thinking of the tight heat his cock will be enveloped in soon.

 

This isn’t enough. Derek lets out yet another growl, this time with frustration, flipping onto his back and taking himself in hand. He reaches for the lubricant in his bedside table, covering his palm so that there’s something warm and slick for him to fuck up into. He knows already that he’s going to knot, he’s going to knot in his hand just from thinking about the body he’s going to have during his rut.

 

The sounds in the room shouldn’t be so sexy; the slight creak of the mattress, the wet sound of his hand moving with his dick, his own harsh breathing. He shouldn’t find listening to himself a turn on- but it’s easy enough when he imagines someone else involved, someone else he’s pounding into the bed, someone else moving against him.

 

Derek moans and he arches up as his knot fills out, coming sudden and hard, covering his belly and his clothes, his bed, his hand. The room fills with the scent of him. It’s pleasing to his wolf, but it’ll be even better when it’s all over his mate.

 

No, no. No. Not mate. Rutting partner.

 

Of course, there’s the thought that Stiles will hate that Derek is luring him away without telling him who he really is. Will he feel betrayed? Lied to? Will he just turn around and walk away, his desire destroyed and replaced with resentment?

 

Derek will make sure that doesn’t happen. He has two weeks to warm Stiles up, to show him this new side of Derek, to seduce him properly. He will.

 

***

 

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna be going away for a few days in a couple weeks,” Stiles announces a few days later when everyone is gathering in Scott and Kira’s little lounge.

 

“What? To where?” Scott demands, his head poking around the corner  from the kitchen where he and Kira are taking an unusually long time to pull together bowls of snacks.

 

They’ve been re-establishing these pack meetings since everyone came back from college, even if they’re less pack meetings and more casual hang outs. They have the bonus addition of Jackson back among them, and sometimes Peter turns up just to smirk around at everyone as though he knows something none of the rest of them do.

 

Derek also comes along.

 

Stiles had been surprised when Derek had first shown up, had turned up the first time Scott had text about the pack getting back together. He hasn’t said it out loud, but he thinks that Derek is lonely, and that he wants to spend time with people. They’d all upped and left to scatter around the country, had deserted Beacon Hills and Derek with it, surrounded by his demons and the shadows of their collective histories.

 

He’s noticed that now Derek comes along, touches everyone gently, accepts touches back, and then remains peacefully in the corner of the room enjoying the mingled scents of his pack. It’s different to the man he’d known and left, and Stiles desperately wants to get to know him again.

 

“Just away. For work. Not too far, only the other side of town, but I’ll be swamped. I’m staying in a hotel-” Stiles lies; though it isn’t really all a lie. Just that it’s for work. But he’s getting paid for it as well, so that’s kind of also not a lie.

 

The door opens partway through his explanation, but Scott is still frowning at him and not really paying attention to whoever else is arriving.

 

“If it’s the other side of town why are you going away? Just drive over-”

 

“Late nights and early mornings, Scottie,” Stiles replies, waving a hand and turning around, finding himself almost face to face with Derek.

 

“Hey, big guy!” Stiles beams. He touches Derek on the shoulder, gives it a little squeeze, then runs his hand down Derek’s arm. He’s totally not feeling Derek up. No no, he’s just mimicking scenting. He’s looked that up a lot the last few days, since securing his date with his wolf. Of course he’s familiar with it already, but there’s intricacies to it, different ways for different relationships and Stiles likes to try things out.

 

Derek is watching him curiously, because this is the first time Stiles has touched so much. But Stiles thinks Derek needs the touching more than any of the others. His thumb rubs the inside of Derek’s wrist and then he pulls away.

 

“Stiles,” Derek returns, perhaps a tiny smile curling in the corner of his mouth as he lifts his hand and rests it against the side of Stiles’ neck. It’s so warm and heavy, it’s just a little touch, but Stiles feels heat trickle through him.

 

And Derek doesn’t usually go for the neck! Ever. He does arms, little taps to the hip or chest in greeting. But necks- necks are super special places and Stiles is blushing, he knows he is. Which is stupid because he has a… uh. Date. A meaningless, sex fuelled date that he’s being paid for, sure, but he probably shouldn’t be letting himself get carried away with little touches from other alphas.

 

 

Derek moves over to the sofa, stroking Erica’s shoulder and pressing his hand to Boyd’s chest. They return the touches, Erica with honest enthusiasm, Boyd with gentle sincerity. Derek’s wolf preens. He likes all the touching, he likes the way no one shies away from it with him now.

 

He can still feel Stiles’ hand on his arm, feel the path it took down to his wrist. Stiles’ normal scent seems to fill his nose faster and easier than it had before, and now there’s the soft, woody scent mixed in that makes Derek’s wolf want to stalk back over and breathe in as deep as possible.

 

He looks over and Stiles is still standing where Derek left him, a flush in his cheeks. He looks as though he’s frowning, as though he’s lost in thought, but a few moments later the door opens again, and Isaac and Allison walk in. Stiles snaps out of whatever reverie he’s stuck in and goes to greet them with hugs.

 

Derek wonders if he should initiate a hug with Stiles one time.

 

 

The pack finds their places around the double corner sofa that dominates most of Scott and Kira’s small lounge. Stiles has wedged himself in one corner, between Isaac and Scott, and Derek is sat on the opposite end. They’ve been working their way through Christopher Nolan’s films, and have hit the first of the Batman ones, so Derek is surprised to see Stiles with his phone out, frowning at the screen instead of paying attention to the film. Of course he’s seen these films a few thousand times already, but he usually loves to offer his commentary to whatever they put on.

 

Derek’s phone buzzes in his pocket just as Stiles puts his down. Lydia is on her phone anyway, and Boyd is half watching the film, half scrolling through something, so Derek doesn’t think there’s any harm in him checking his.

 

The notification from the website lights up his screen. A message from LittleRed. He wonders if Stiles is onto him, wonders if he knows, and Derek can’t stop himself from looking across the sofa. But Stiles is fixed on the film now.

 

He slides his thumb across the screen to get to the message.

 

LittleRed : I have other wolf friends. We touch a lot. Not in a sexy way, but enough that I probably smell like them. Is that going to be a problem?

 

Derek frowns at the message for a few seconds and knows he can’t reply right now. Though he desperately wants to send something back to Stiles, something that’ll get him a little bit worked up.

 

It’s kind of what he signed up for.

 

A few minutes later he slips off of the end of the sofa and heads for the bathroom to tap out his message, only hitting send when he’s stepping back into the lounge.

 

Stiles doesn’t even try to be subtle when he reaches for his phone.

 

 

 

ThirdSpiral: I wouldn’t expect anything less. You have a pack, you’d smell of other wolves. I don’t mind. Even if you smell of another alpha. It’s just a question of how your pack will feel when you come back smelling of me, when you come back smelling of us . When you smell like you’ve been claimed. If they see the bruises I’m going to leave all over you.

 

I hope none of them want to mate with you, because they’ll smell me on you for weeks.

 

 

Stiles makes a noise that he hopes he can cover up as a cough, certain that the volume of the film will stop wolfy ears getting too inquisitive. The first paragraph of the reply makes his cock twitch in his pants. One of the things he’s really enjoyed about his conversations with his wolf is the possessiveness. He’s always sounded so possessive, it’s not the first time the word claim has been used, and Stiles wonders if he should be worried about that.

 

The last line makes something heavier settle in his chest, though he doesn’t know why. And he doesn’t know why he looks over towards Derek, who has just sat back down on the other side of the room.

 

Perhaps he wants to ask Derek about it. About claiming. About rutting. About whether or not this is a good idea. Because telling Scott these things is out of the question, he can’t even imagine Scott having a rut. But Derek must have had one. He must understand.

 

The wolf glances over at him. His expression isn’t its usual glare of annoyance at being looked at. It’s soft, almost questioning. And yeah, maybe he should talk to Derek.

 

Stiles gives Derek a little smile, surprised when it’s returned before the wolf looks back at the screen as though nothing happened.

 

 

LittleRed: Are you thinking of claiming me?

 

Stiles hits send in a slight panic, then remembers how courteous his wolf is, how thoughtful he’s been so far. He might talk that possessive talk, but he’s polite, he’s considerate about Stiles’ wants and needs, he’s making plans to have things Stiles likes to drink and snack on on hand in the hotel room. And now his message seems too bold, or too accusing. He doesn’t know. But he doesn’t want to send just that.

 

LittleRed: I didn’t mean- you make it sound so sexy. You make everything sound so, so sexy. You know how to seduce a guy. And I really can’t wait to smell like you. I can’t wait to smell like us. I know it’ll linger no matter how much I shower. I kinda can’t wait to see their expressions. I want them to think I’m claimed.

 

He does. That’s not a nice thing to think. But Stiles wants that. He wants to make the other wolves curious, wants them to know he’s not just a special little human to them . Of course he’ll assure Scott that he’s not being taken away, that he’s not immediately going to be mated to a wolf he’s only just met, even if he already really likes the normal conversations they’ve had as much as the sex talk. When he’d mentioned a book he was reading, they’d gone off on that tangent late at night. When he’d received a picture of a pancake stack one morning, it was accompanied with promises of providing as many as Stiles can eat. When he’d gone on a lengthy rant about some historical facts he’d read the night before, his wolf had given his insight.

 

Stiles wants to know how Derek will react. Which is even worse, because he’s been the one trying to get Derek comfortable around them all. But no one here has any actual claim to him.

 

Again, Stiles looks over at Derek, enjoying the way the soft light from his phone and the light from the television throw all of Derek’s facial features into relief. His eyes are almost clear, the colour from them lost in the way he’s illuminated. He’s watching the film for the moment, and doesn’t turn to look at Stiles this time.

 

His phone buzzes in his hand.

 

ThirdSpiral: Is there anyone in particular you’re trying to make jealous? I bet you’re a right handful for your pack, aren’t you? I already know that a part of you is at least one good handful.

 

I think it’s really hot that you want to smell like me. And us. I can’t wait to scent you. I want to press my face against your neck and breathe you in. I want to press my face between your legs and memorise what you smell like when you’re turned on.

 

 

 

Stiles thumps his head back against the sofa, and this at least draws the attention of the rest of his pack. He’s going to die of blood constantly flooding down to his dick. That’s it. That’s how he’ll die. His eyes slide over to Derek, who is looking at him again (along with everyone else, to be fair) his expression gently curious.

 

He couldn’t call him Sourwolf now. There’s nothing sour about the tiny curl of his lips, the little twinkle in his eyes, even  the softness of his hair that Stiles doesn’t remember from before. Before Derek. And Now Derek.

 

Maybe Stiles can use this as a learning experience. Get to know how to please a werewolf and then come back and seduce Derek. No. God. He’s just drunk on lust. On want. Like any wolf will do. Oh God, he’s a wolfslut.

 

Stiles scrubs his hand over his face and blinks at the television.

 

Two weeks can’t pass soon enough.