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A New Ritual

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“Dad’s going to be gone for hours,” Stiles said when Derek slid a second finger inside. “You can, uh—we could talk. Or. Not talk.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Derek replied, pressing his lips against Stiles’s hip in a vague, closed-mouth kiss. “I’m just…” He crooked his fingers and Stiles let out a startled grunt. “This whole thing is surreal.”

“Feels kind of naughty, huh?” He’d changed his superhero sheets out for dark blue ones, but he still had posters up on the wall that he’d hung with tacs and clothes piled around the half-empty laundry basket. It was his house, but it felt like he'd somehow outgrown his room.

“No. I just like the way you look. In your bed. I like being here with you. It feels nice. Smells like you. You feel comfortable here.” Derek was staring at his fingers, adding more lube (Stiles was going to have to put the superhero sheets back on after this, they were the only clean ones and Derek was already making a mess). Stiles looked at the top of Derek’s head, his stupid messy hair that Stiles had flattened when Derek first arrived and Stiles shoved him up against the wall in the hallway and ran his hands through it, and reminded himself that saying I love you for the first time during sex was a bad idea. He could wait until breakfast the next morning. He had Fruit Loops. Derek liked Fruit Loops. He was totally lying when he said he didn’t. “You ready for three fingers?”

Stiles swallowed hard, because he was getting feelings caught in his throat and Derek was too occupied to kiss him and Stiles really didn’t want him to notice, because he’d stop what he was doing with his fingers. “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“No,” Stiles said. Derek looked up at him sharply and Stiles grinned. “Kidding. I said yes already. You don’t have to double-check my answers. You’re not grading my math test. I’ll tell you if something doesn’t feel good.”

The third finger made him hiss, and Derek watched his face this time, gauging his reactions. “My knot’s going to be bigger than this,” Derek said. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Derek asked, for about the twentieth time, genuine concern threading through his voice.

"If you don't knot up inside me in the next ten minutes, I swear to god, I will leave you here to jerk yourself off and go play Halo with Scott.”

"And they say romance is dead." Stiles gasped when Derek pulled his fingers out and crawled up the bed, wiping his hand off on a hand-towel.

"Romance may not be dead, but I will be dead. Of blue balls. Perilously soon." He met Derek’s eyes. "Knot me, Derek," he said solemnly. "It's for medical reasons."

"I can't believe you're letting me do this," Derek whispered, his mouth against Stiles's ear, nibbling the edge the way Stiles liked. “I can’t wait to find out what it’s going to feel like.”

Stiles couldn't quite believe it either. The whole idea of it was strange in a way that brought the fact that Derek was a werewolf back into the spotlight again. And there wasn’t much that Derek could tell him about it, since most of what he knew was drawn from vague memories of things his father had mentioned and the equivalent of werewolf locker-room talk from his brothers and cousins. Derek had never knotted with anything other than his own hand before. He hadn't trusted anyone else enough; no one who knew who and what he was.

Apparently, Derek had confessed, curled tight against Stiles's chest about two weeks ago, it was a way to strengthen ties within the pack. It didn't happen often. Only if the relationship was strong, a bond was already there, and if the sex was—Derek had blushed bright red—more than satisfactory.

If it worked the way Derek said it might, it would connect them. Derek hadn't been sure exactly how, though, and Stiles had put a moratorium on asking Deaton sex questions ever since the Darach/virgin debacle, so they were basically winging it. Which was pretty much par for the course for the two of them. Derek might be years older than Stiles, but in terms of emotional first times, they’d been on the same level since Stiles first pushed Derek up against a wall and asked if he wanted to get climbed like a tree and go for milkshakes after.

"Just—Stiles—" Derek's breath was hot against Stiles's neck. "It might hurt. And we don't know how long it will take, or what the ramifications might be."

“I want you,” Stiles said, running a hand through Derek’s hair. “I trust you. You want this, and I want this, and it feels…”

“Feels right,” Derek muttered.

“Yeah.” And it did. Scary, weird, oddly intriguing—but it was something Derek’s body had started to crave. Something that meant a lot to him, something important, even if he didn’t completely understand it. A lot of Derek’s knowledge had holes in it. Derek’s parents hadn’t gotten around to the birds and the wolves talk before the fire. “Ready?” Derek nodded. “So how do you think we should do this?”

“Hands and knees?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. He tried to wriggle. “Dude. You weigh a ton. You gotta get off me if you want me to move."

Derek smiled and kissed him once more before helping Stiles get into position. They hadn’t used condoms after their second time together (Derek loved coming inside of Stiles, and apparently werewolves were STD-less). Stiles groaned at the sensation of Derek’s cock finally sliding inside of him. Derek started out slow, the way he always did, making absolutely sure that Stiles was ready and stretched and comfortable. He always waited until after Stiles started complaining about it. Waited until Stiles was fighting against Derek’s grip on his hips, trying to fuck himself on Derek’s cock, threatening him with spending the night on the couch and veggie burgers and withholding sex.

This time, Stiles kept pretty quiet. Just said, “Feels good,” because it did. And finally, “You can speed up if you want.” Stiles was softening a little bit, because this didn’t feel as good as the fingering had, with Derek playing inside of him and kissing his hips and looking at him. Eventually, it stopped feeling like Derek taking his time, and started to feel like Derek was avoiding the main event.

"I'm ready," Stiles said, stretching backwards awkwardly to give Derek a kiss. Derek leaned into him and nipped at his lower lip when he pulled away. "I want you to do this. If you still want to?"

Derek held himself still for a few seconds, and then said, “Yes,” his grip tightening for a brief moment before he started fucking Stiles hard. Within a minute Stiles could feel Derek losing control. He pushed into Stiles with enough force that he'd have slammed against the wall if Derek hadn't then grabbed Stiles's shoulders, pulling him back with every thrust. Stiles's ass and thighs were going to be bright red from the impact.

"I know you want this," Stiles said, instead of saying I’m a bit nervous, too, because Derek was more afraid of hurting Stiles than anything else. "You want to come inside of me. Breed me. So—so do it. Knot us so we have to stay together, keep me under you—" Derek bit the back of his neck, right over the bruise he always left, perfectly shaped, like the preliminary trace of a tattoo. Stiles's eyes almost rolled back in his head. Derek only ever bit him if he was Having Feelings.

Derek went still, his teeth still digging in. Then he kissed the bite mark. "It's starting," Derek said, moving his hands from Stiles's shoulders to his hips. Stiles could feel it.

"Jesus, Derek—” Derek slowed his movements and slid gently into Stiles. Stiles could feel the new swell at the base of Derek's cock bumping against his rim, Stiles's body stretching to let it out, fighting to keep it in.

"I can't believe this is happening," Derek said, groaning before driving his cock all the way in, hard, which felt way too good. Stiles reached a hand down and grasped the base of his own dick. "You're ready to come for me, aren't you? You're getting off on this?"

"No," Stiles said, already breathless. "This is all one big ruse. I'm secretly straight. I'm just—taking one for the team—"

He grinned when Derek laughed and nipped at the bite mark. Getting Derek to laugh during sex always made Stiles feel like he was scoring bonus points. Then his mouth just dropped open, because the knot was getting bigger, but Derek wasn't slowing down. Derek fucked him quick, hard, and methodically, barely giving Stiles time to tighten up before forcing him back open.

Stiles was supporting himself with just his left arm, his right hand tight around his dick to keep from coming, and he collapsed when Derek started moving his hips in little circles, stroking against Stiles's prostate hard enough it hurt. He reached back and tried to grab onto Derek's thigh.

"Stay in me," Stiles pleaded. "Gonna—"

He came, his breath halfway in his lungs, caught in a startled gasp. He was split open on Derek's dick, Derek biting his neck again, his torso pressed against the tight line of Stiles's body. Stiles came, and when he did, he clenched on Derek's knot tight enough that they both cried out with it.

"Hurts," Stiles gasped, fucking himself with tiny little motions, working Derek's cock like a toy against his prostate. Derek wrapped his hand around Stiles's cock and the two of them finished him off together.

"Sorry," Derek said, when Stiles’s hand faltered to a stop. "Sorry, I'm so sorry I hurt you." He tried to pull out and that time it was just Stiles crying out, a strangled scream.

"Don't move," he gasped. Derek stopped pulling out. "No moving. Moving bad." Derek shifted just barely, turning Stiles's face towards his own, kissing Stiles’s cheek. His knot was still pressed against Stiles's prostate. "Jesus fuck," he swore, his mouth inches away from Derek's concerned face. "It's fine, it's good, it's all good—don't pull out. Too big."

His dick was making a valiant effort to get hard again already. Time to think with your big brain, he told it sternly. Orgasming again this soon, if he could even manage it (and, given the weight and heat of Derek inside of him, he might be able to) would hurt like a motherfucker. Derek reached down to feel Stiles's hole, and Stiles folded his arms underneath himself and rested his head, settling in for a wait, trying to ignore the pressure on his prostate and the heat of Derek's body curved on top of his.

Derek stroked his fingers around Stiles's rim, an accidental tease on the sensitive skin. "You sure I didn't hurt you?"

"You're not hurting me," Stiles said, while sternly telling his cock to calm the fuck down. "I'm going to write that on a sign and just hold it up every time you ask if I'm okay."

"You said it hurt," Derek murmured.

"It felt—it did, a bit. But in a good way. How do you feel?"

He gave Derek time to think, because that was always a hard question for Derek to answer. "This is the best my cock has ever felt," Derek finally announced.

Stiles twisted on the bed to look at Derek's face. There was sweat on Derek's forehead, but otherwise he looked pretty normal. "You sound very calm for a guy on a trip to dick nirvana."

"I'm—I'm trying very hard not to move," Derek said carefully. "All of my instincts are telling me to keep fucking you. Stiles, all I can think about it making you come again, still on my knot, while I fill you up with come until it spills out of you."

Stiles blinked. Huh. That—yeah, he was definitely getting hard again already. "Why do you always sound so matter-of-fact when you talk dirty?" he grumbled, trying to convince his body to move again.

Derek mouthed at his bite mark for a while before answering. "I'm not trying to talk dirty. I’m just telling you how I feel."

Somehow, that made it hotter. "Try," Stiles said, bracing himself on his elbows, sending an apology to his dick for taking away its half-time break.

"Try talking dirty?"

"Try fucking me."

Derek shuddered, and Stiles bit his lip to keep in a whine, because even that small movement shifted Derek's dick inside of him. "Are you sure I won't hurt you?"

"I'm making an 'I'm okay' sign, I swear to god. Do it already."

Derek pressed in, somehow moving deeper into Stiles's body, even though Stiles already felt like Derek had hollowed him out and filled him back up in places he'd never been touched before. When Derek tried to pull out, Stiles made a strangled noise and moved his hips back, keeping Derek's knot from pulling at his rim.

"You're too big to pull all the way out," he gasped. God, it felt huge. Stiles couldn’t actually tell if it hurt, or if it was just overwhelming.

"Let me—just let me try—" And then Derek was pressing in, his hips grinding against Stiles's buttocks like he was trying to bruise them, drawing circles with his hips that made his knot massage Stiles's prostate with a vengeance. "I'm gonna start coming," Derek said. "And I'm not going to ask if it's okay. Because of the ‘I’m okay’ sign that you’re making."

Even though most of Stiles's brain had gone off-line, he could still hear the question Derek was very diligently not asking. "I’m good. It's fine. Come in me."

"Can I…" Derek's hands on Stiles's hips eased back and then jerked forward, hard, getting more momentum in the half-inch of movement they could manage than Stiles would have thought was possible. Stiles whined, feeling like he was going to cry.

"How do you keep making it feel better?" he asked, his voice cracking. Derek growled and fucked him until Stiles’s dick was hanging hard and heavy beneath him. When Stiles reached for it, Derek snarled. "...do you not want me to move?"

"Mine," Derek said, his voice rumbling through Stiles's body like a shockwave. Derek didn’t often use his command voice, the remnants of his time as an Alpha an undertone in his infrequent orders. Stiles loved it when it happened.

It had taken a long time for Stiles to convince Derek to bring out his claws, to lose himself sometimes, to shift for him. Stiles had traced the ridges on Derek's face carefully and whispered his own real first name, over and over, until Derek could pronounce it even with his fangs out, in the way only his family and Scott ever could.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, on his hands and knees in his own bed in his own room in his own home, somehow completely surrounded by Derek. "Yours.” It was starting to hurt. His ass was sore, his thighs were aching, and the bite mark stung like it hadn’t since the first time Derek made it. Derek starting growling, something rumbling deep in his chest, and Stiles gasped. “You're coming," he said, pretty sure he could feel it, feel Derek's cock pulsing with every shift of Derek inside of him. "Aren't you? Derek?"

Derek whined, and Stiles wondered if Derek was actually beyond words. Stiles wanted to touch himself, but since Derek was anti-Stiles-time at the moment, he reached behind himself instead. His dick was dripping with pre-cum already, he had to do something to pull his mind away from it.

Derek growled again when Stiles tried to circle the base of Derek's dick with his fingers, but Stiles hesitantly kept moving. He could feel Derek coming. It had been over a minute, and Derek's hips were still shifting in tight circles, burying his come in Stiles in steady pulses.

"There’s going to be so much of it," Stiles said faintly. Although he actually felt pretty dry. Tacky with lube, but not wet with Derek's come. "Except—your knot's keeping everything inside me," Stiles said, because he believed in dirty talk. He was just better at it than Derek. "All that come, filling me up. I'm going to smell like you for days. I’m going to let it drip out of me, so that everyone knows I'm yours—" Derek bit him on the shoulder, a new, unmarked stretch of skin. Stiles could feel the bruises forming under Derek's mouth and hands.

"I'm going to be carrying your marks for days," he said quietly, because it meant something more to Derek than Stiles could understand. Derek had asked permission to leave a hickey the first time they’d fucked, sounding so ashamed of himself for wanting to that Stiles had called everything to a halt and made Derek talk to him about it (and then asked Derek to leave a line of hickeys around his throat where they’d be just barely hidden by his t-shirt).

It was starting to be too much. The overstimulation, the heat, the unexpectedly deep pressure of it—he wanted to come. He wanted to come more than he ever had before, but when he reached for himself again, Derek growled.

"Please," Stiles whimpered, his dignity having left at some point between getting fingered for nearly half an hour and Derek's knot getting too big to pull out. "Please, let me come?"

Derek reached down, and for one brief, happy moment, Stiles thought Derek was going to jerk him off. Instead, Derek pressed his hand, palm flat and fingers spread wide, over Stiles's stomach. Pressed until Stiles's breath whispered out of him and all he could feel was the new heaviness in his gut, and the way Derek's hips and dick and hand were redefining the way Stiles could feel pleasure.

"Fuck," he swore, biting his lip, swaying under Derek's body, unable to support himself anymore. This was—the pressure inside of him, Derek's loss of words, the way his pain was transforming into something deeper inside his body—this was so much more than sex. This wasn’t just kinky, wasn't physical. It didn't even feel like sex anymore. It felt more like a spell.

They were mating. The wolf that Derek always was, but only rarely revealed, was laying his claim. And Stiles... Under the arch of Derek's body, held up by his hands, Stiles welcomed it and felt safe. He was hard, aching, dripping pre-cum until it spilled on the bedspread, but it wasn’t until Derek wrapped a hand around his neck and cut off his air that he came. Untouched, which hadn’t ever happened before.

He tried to say Derek's name as his come spilled helplessly out of him and onto the blanket between his knees; he gasped Derek, and waited for long, disjointed minutes before Derek whispered his name back to him. He let Derek hold him up as his body spasmed and shook, trusting Derek’s grip, trusting the desperation in his lungs and cock and stomach until Derek’s grip softened and became a caress, soothing him through the aftershocks.

"Stiles," Derek said, like he was rediscovering him. "You... That was…"

"Yeah," Stiles said, his entire body lax in the afterglow.

"You're amazing," Derek murmured. "You okay?"

For the first time that night, Stiles was glad Derek asked, instead of getting frustrated and adding mental swirly doodles to his “I’m Okay! I’m Human, Not Fragile!” sign that he was still absolutely going to make. "I think so," he said quietly. "It doesn’t hurt anymore."

"I don’t know how long this will take," Derek said, "I don’t want to squish you, and I'm still—I don't think it's gotten any smaller. I'm going to just...roll us over." Derek wrapped an arm around Stiles's waist and Stiles whined and curled into the small pain when Derek moved him. Derek arranged them into matching curves, Stiles’s back against Derek’s front, Derek's arms wrapped around Stiles's chest, keeping Stiles's arms tight against his chest. Stiles had learned a while ago that this kind of grasp was wolf for 'Cuddling,' not a 'You're weak and I want to protect you' defensive hold.

"How are you?" Stiles asked, sneaking a hand free to stroke at Derek's bicep.

"I—I think I'm still coming."

"Jesus god.” The idea of it, of Derek’s come so deep and hot inside his body, made a tremor run through him that had both of them tensing with pleasure. “How long is this going to last?"

"I don't know. It feels really different than when I've done it by myself. I can't get over how good you feel."

In the end, it took twenty minutes, and a lot of quiet pillow talk (mostly Stiles saying he was okay and Derek trying to say thank you while Stiles batted ineffectually at his head) before Stiles started to feel something warm slip out of his hole.

"Your come's dripping out of me," he said, feeling an unexpected frisson of smug pleasure spill through him.

Derek reached down and played with it, covering his fingers in it. Stiles groaned when Derek brought his hand to his mouth and licked at it. "Tastes like normal.”

"Let me try it?"

Derek collected more come from where it was starting to coat Stiles's thighs before slipping his fingers into Stiles's mouth. Stiles sucked each finger slowly, sleepily, his body rocking against Derek's in a movement that felt so natural he didn't realize he was doing it until Derek pulled his hand away and grabbed Stiles's hip.

"You're going to get me hard again," Derek muttered, "if you keep moving."

"Aren't you still hard now?"

"Yeah, but not as much." He tugged, and Stiles moaned when Derek's knot slid out of him. His cock gave a helpless little jerk. A second later it hit him.

“Fuck,” Stiles gasped, unexpectedly overwhelmed, his hands closing into fists. “Oh, fuck—”

Derek’s hands moved frantically over his body, soothing over his shoulders, running over his buttocks. “Talk to me, Stiles. Talk to me.”

“I just feel really empty,” Stiles whispered. He felt lonely, like his body was going to shrink into itself until there was nothing left.

Derek eased him onto his stomach, kissing the tight, closed line of his mouth, before slipping four fingers back into Stiles’s body, clenching them to try to imitate the pressure of the knot. Stiles let out a strangled groan and spread his legs wide. “Better?” Derek asked.

“Kind of,” Stiles gasped, because as big as Derek’s knot inside of him had been, four fingers were actually wider than the base of Derek’s shaft; Stiles felt empty and tight at the same time. With Derek kissing him and nuzzling against his neck, the loss of Derek’s knot didn’t make Stiles feel as alone. Derek crooked his fingers and stroked him until Stiles's breath stopped coming out in uneven hiccups.

“My fingers are soaked,” Derek said, his dirty talk as factual and hot as always. “I’ve got come spilling down over my wrist. And I really, really want to lick you to see what you taste like on the inside. Can I?”

"I'm going to die from sex," Stiles said distantly. "I have achieved the ultimate teenage dream."

"I'm going to take that as a 'yes.'"

Stiles hadn't realized that Derek had shifted until his tongue, long, flexible, and rough, rasped over the rim of Stiles's hole and slid inside of him. "You fucker," Stiles said, helpless tears spilling from his eyes. The aching emptiness inside of him that had just begun to fade, that had initially left him feeling—feeling less—now felt like an invitation.

Derek spread Stiles's hole open, his claws kept carefully away from the sensitive skin, and opened his mouth wide so he could fuck Stiles's hole with his tongue. Stiles's whole body was shaking. Rimming—when Derek was shifted like this, his tongue so long and flexible—drove him crazy. Derek had made him come from this before, made him cry, beg, spread himself open and fuck himself back on it like he'd die if he didn't get Derek's tongue deeper inside of him.

Come was still spilling down his thighs. Derek growled, the vibrations making Stiles's whole body seize for a moment, before scraping it up and pushing it back inside Stiles’s hole.

“I want to keep you full," Derek said. His voice was still rough. His fangs were out. He pulled Stiles's body up and shoved a pillow under his hips. Stiles squirmed when the pillowcase brushed against his dick, which felt over-sensitive and sore. Derek tilted Stiles's hips at an awkward angle, and Stiles almost complained, before he realized Derek was trying to keep his come from leaving Stiles's body.

"I want to lick you until you come again," Derek said, his fingers gentle over the bruises he'd already made. "Then put a plug in you. Leave it there until tomorrow. I can't—right now, I can't—I hate watching my come leaving your body." If Stiles had been female, Derek would be trying to get him pregnant. Spread out like he was, Stiles could still feel a new heaviness in his stomach. Maybe it was real.

He closed his eyes and said, "Yes," then cried and clawed at the mattress and cursed while Derek rimmed him.

Derek didn't let him touch his cock again. He made Stiles rut against the pillow, the friction barely enough, his tongue curling against Stiles's prostate over and over again. Derek's tongue felt so good that Stiles almost forgave him for the way he made the pain and pleasure in Stiles's body crisscross. His hands were intertwined with Derek's when his orgasm started to hit him, as if he could add anything to the brutal strength Derek used to keep Stiles spread and begging.

Derek said, "Keep yourself open for me," and moved one of his hands to press against Stiles's stomach again. The careful pressure of his claws against Stiles's skin and the satisfied rumbling sound Derek made when he felt the swell of Stiles's body, drove him over the edge.

He clenched uselessly around Derek's tongue, his whole body spasming, and Derek just kept going, holding his hips in place, wringing Stiles out until he was panting, covered in sweat, until he finally managed to say, "Derek—yours, I'm yours."

Derek surged up over him, his softening cock rubbing against Stiles’s ass, digging his teeth into the bite mark hard enough that Stiles honestly thought he was going to break the skin. And then Derek shifted, and his fangs pricked at Stiles’s skin. When he felt small trickles of blood slowly trickle down the side of his neck he felt something settle over his body like a second skin. He knew magic when he felt it now.

Derek growled and pulled back, his hands still on Stiles’s thighs. Stiles flexed his body and felt the magic move with him. “I’m yours,” Stiles said. The sensation of it was beginning to dissipate. He stretched his fingers out and waited for it to settle, like dry skin pulling tight before fading away.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said.

Stiles twisted around on the bed, knocking Derek off-balance. Derek’s face was human but there was blood on his lips, like smeared lipstick from a one-night stand. “Are you sorry because you didn’t want this to happen, or are you sorry because you think I didn’t want this to happen?”

“I—I don’t—”

“Use your words, Derek,” Stiles said. A lot of the time he tried to fill in Derek’s answers for him. But Derek’s come was spilling out of him and everything felt right, his body felt like it finally fit him, and he could feel Derek’s presence like a lodestone. Not pulling him closer, just giving him directions. Derek was here. Stiles would always know where he was. He’d made himself a new North Pole.

“If you’re happy,” Derek said slowly, “if you understand what this means, then I…”

“I get it,” Stiles said, with a crooked grin.

“Then I’m—I’m really—” Derek’s smile looked unexpectedly feral, since Stiles’s blood was staining his teeth, but the way he tackled Stiles back onto the mattress was familiar. It was Derek, playful and careful and wrapped around Stiles.

“You’re really…?”

“I’m—I’m really fucking happy. Okay? Want me to make a sign?” Derek’s voice was muffled because he’d nestled his head in the curve of Stiles’s neck, probably getting Stiles’s pillowcases dirty, too.

“We can have a craft day later. I’ll bring the glitter, you get the poster board.”

Derek huffed out a laugh and Stiles added a tally mark to his ‘Made Derek Laugh During Sex’ scoreboard. Then Derek nudged Stiles onto his side and kissed the bite mark. “I’m going to grab some disinfectant and Band-Aids. Maybe some gauze. And Gatorade. You need anything to eat?”

Stiles shook his head. Derek grabbed a pair of Stiles’s shorts before heading out of the room. He knew where the first-aid kit was, knew his way around the kitchen. He’d probably even grab the clean Superwoman sheets from the linen closet on the way back.

And as Derek moved around the house, Stiles closed his eyes, and reached for the unmistakable feel of Derek in his mind.

Yeah. They were both going to need ‘I’m Happy’ signs.