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Maybe I Just Wanna Be Yours

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It’s possible that the only thing more unnerving than a werewolf staring sourly at you, is having said werewolf worriedly hovering over you instead. Thing is, Stiles has no scruples about using sarcasm against a sour wolf, but the way Derek’s looking at him at the moment is sort of taking away Stiles’ only defence.

It’s not actually like Derek has turned into mother hen or anything - he’s still Derek - but this is unfamiliar ground and, well, emotions. Stiles always thought that he’d be safe with Derek in this regard; Derek doesn’t really do emotions and that suits Stiles just fine.

“I’m fine, really. See?” Stiles holds his hands out awkwardly, as if to let Derek inspect him. He doesn’t really expect Derek to actually take the invitation, drawing even closer and touching his hands to the blood - mostly not Stiles’ own - that stains Stiles’ clothing.

“You reek,” is all the feedback Derek gives him.

“Well, if you’d just let me have a shower.” Stiles tries to pass Derek. He can't help the frustrated sigh when Derek once again blocks his way.

"I'll help." Derek says. Stiles is sure Derek must have taken a blow to the head at some point during the night.

"What? No. You don't need to-" Derek stops Stiles short with a look. Stiles puts a hand on Derek's arm, and Derek's gaze follows the motion.

"Alright," Stiles says, too tired to argue. He really just wants to wash this blood and grime off and sleep. Maybe have some food first, pizza would be good.


Derek runs a bath when they get to the bathroom, and really, Stiles isn't going to say no to that. He doesn't protest when Derek helps him into the water either; he sighs sofly when the warm water soothes aches he hadn't even realized were there. Derek sits down on the edge of the tub, watching him like he thinks Stiles might disappear, and really this is getting weird.

"Hey," Stiles says, bringing Derek's gaze from the bruises on his arm to his face. "What's wrong?"

Stiles may not be good at this whole talking about your feelings thing, but he'd sort of really like to know what's going on with Derek right now.

Derek shrugs, or rather he does some tiny motion that Stiles interprets as a shrug. Stiles knows there’s no use pushing, so he waits and lets Derek wash him.

“You’re part of the pack,” Derek says as he starts on Stiles’ hair, like that’s supposed to be an explanation Stiles can understand.

Maybe he should understand it, as much time as he has spent around the pack. But even if Derek counts him as pack (Stiles doesn’t mind, exactly), he’s not a were and decoding Derek’s moods doesn’t come naturally to him. Not that Stiles really believes that being a were would help him understand Derek’s moods.

It’s when Stiles closes his eyes to let Derek rinse his hair that Derek adds, so softly that Stiles almost doesn’t catch it; “I thought you’d be killed.”

Stiles’ eyes fly open and he flails ungracefully as he’s blinded by water. Derek’s just staring calmly at him when he can see again, as if maybe Stiles just imagined the words. Except he knows he didn’t. And when Stiles’ hand finds Derek’s, he can feel Derek trembling.

“Hey, come here...” Stiles pulls on Derek’s hand, shifting in the tub to make some room.

Derek hesitates, and Stiles is just about ready to take it back and laugh it off (what is he doing, anyway?) when Derek stands to strip off his dirty clothes. He does however sit as far away from Stiles as the tub allows once he slides in. Which isn’t exactly far, their legs are all but tangled together in the middle of the tub.

Stiles just looks at Derek dumbly for a moment. Even if he had thought about it before offering, it’s not like he would have expected Derek to actually take him up on it, so he can’t really be blamed for not having a plan.

Stiles picks up the washcloth Derek had dropped on the side of the bath. He moves slowly, giving Derek time to object, but Derek doesn’t. In fact, after an initial shudder Derek holds completely still as Stiles washes him.

“The pack’s supposed to take care of their Alpha, right?” Stiles asks after a few minutes, because Derek’s stillness and the silence are making him uncomfortable even if neither is unusual where Derek’s concerned.

“Yes. But I don’t-” Derek stops short, gaze focused somewhere behind Stiles.

“What? You don’t need to be taken care of? Or you don’t deserve it? Or-” Stiles has to stop that train of thought, because the thought that maybe Derek doesn’t think he deserves to be cared for makes him irrationally angry.

The silence seems loud, but Stiles knows when to stop pushing. He keeps washing Derek, and by the time he’s done he thinks that maybe Derek won’t answer.

“I always lose people I care about.”

Stiles’ eyes flick back to Derek’s face, and suddenly he gets it. Or he hopes he does, because before he knows it he’s caught Derek’s face in his hands to force Derek to actually look at him.

“You’re not going to lose me,” Stiles says, gaze intent on Derek’s. He realizes that he’s maybe promising not to die, but he’s not taking it back.

“You’re human,” Derek protests.

“I’m your human,” Stiles amends, because it might not make him invincible but the distinction seems important right now.

Derek huffs out a breath but he doesn’t make any further protests, just looks at Stiles like maybe he hasn’t really seen Stiles before. Stiles certainly feels like he’s seeing a whole new Derek, so he can sympathize.

Something about the moment makes Stiles move forward to kiss Derek. Derek makes a soft sound of surprise; completely still for a few beats before he kisses Stiles back. And oh God Stiles is kissing Derek and Derek is kissing him back and he realizes he’s still holding onto Derek’s face so he lets one hand drop onto Derek’s shoulder but keeps the other against Derek’s cheek.

Stiles won’t lie, he’s imagined kissing Derek a few times, but this is nothing like any of those imagined times. He always sort of assumed Derek would go all alpha on him - maybe throw him up against the wall or some shit (and he hopes Derek isn’t opposed to this idea, because whoah) - but this is quiet and gentle; and Derek’s letting Stiles lead.

“Mine?” Derek asks when Stiles pulls back.

Stiles can’t help the laughter, he feels tense and loose all at once, and this is just crazy. Derek actually smiles - smiles - at him and Stiles is thinking maybe he was the one who hit his head. Then Derek’s pulling him closer and Stiles sobers in an instant because Derek is hard.

“Oh,” Stiles says, and he’s not sure if he imagines the flash of red as he meets Derek’s eyes. He doesn’t really have time to think about it before Derek’s kissing him again. This time it’s a little more like Stiles would have imagined; hard and desperate with a hint of teeth. By the time Derek moves his lips to Stiles’ neck, Stiles is definitely hard as well.

“Can I take you to bed?” Derek asks against Stiles collarbone, and Stiles nods dumbly in response because he actually cannot form words right now.

Derek lifts Stiles out of the bath easily - showoff - and uses the same bath towel to dry both of them before he pushes Stiles toward his bedroom. Stiles would be nervous, but Derek’s handsy and possessive now and it’s all Stiles can do to focus on not letting his legs give out. He’s grateful when he can drop down onto the bed.

Derek doesn’t really let go of Stiles, just follows him onto the bed. His body is heavy and warm on top of Stiles, and it’s strangely comforting when he buries his nose against Stiles’ neck and just breathes him in for a few moments.

“Yours,” Stiles says without thinking about it, lips against Derek’s cheek. Derek shudders against him, teeth grazing Stiles’ neck.

“I want to-” Derek starts, pulling back to look at Stiles.

“You can,” Stiles says quickly, squirming beneath Derek. He just wants Derek to - something - anything.

“You don’t even know what I want.” Derek’s looking at him levelly, but Stiles picks up on the hint of amusement in his tone.

“You still can,” Stiles replies, and he’s not even lying. He’d let Derek do anything right now. Well, as long as it won’t have Stiles howling at the next full moon, but he trusts Derek enough not to worry about that.

Stiles hadn’t expected Derek to want to roll off him, and he makes a plaintive noise because really? Not cool.

Derek runs a warm hand over Stiles’ stomach, and Stiles can’t help but push into the touch. He wants so much more, but apparently Derek’s a tease.

“Turn around,” Derek says as he pulls his hand way. Stiles huffs but turns over onto his stomach anyway, because hopefully it means Derek’s actually planning on touching him.

Derek covers him again, nosing at Stiles’ neck before kissing the top of his spine. Stiles sucks in a breath as Derek worries the skin, bruising him like he just needs Stiles to wear his mark. Which might not be far from the truth, and Stiles finds that he wants Derek to mark him, somewhere visible where people won’t need werewolf senses to know who he belongs to.

Derek growls softly like he knows what Stiles is thinking; it vibrates down Stiles spine and he bucks up against Derek, needing somethinganythingmore.

“Have you ever?” Derek asks, and it takes a few beats for Stiles’ brain to understand and then a few more to form a response.

“Not with a werewolf,” Stiles answers, then yelps when Derek nips at the skin on his shoulder.


“I have- nope, not really, no.” Stiles doesn’t think Derek needs to know about the dildo (it was a prank gift which actually turned out to be a great gift).

Derek doesn’t say anything else. He kisses his way down Stiles’ back slowly, and Stiles can appreciate him going slow because actively thinking about how Derek will be his first sorta made the nerves kick in.

Despite Derek’s mouth making its steady way down Stiles’ back, Stiles is not ready at all when Derek’s tongue suddenly teases his crack. Derek gets his hands on Stiles’ ass, pushes the cheeks apart to get better access. His tongue presses against Stiles’ hole and - oh.


“Good?” Derek asks, voice half muffled.

“Yesss… don’t stop. Please.”

Derek doesn’t respond to that, but he doesn’t seem to have any plans to stop. His tongue flicks over Stiles’ asshole, traces around the rim, presses inside, over and over. Stiles pushes back against Derek’s face as much as he can with Derek’s weight on his legs, panting heavily.

Stiles is so gone by the time Derek pushes a slick finger in beside his tongue that he barely notices. It feels good; he wants more, but Derek’s going slow, paying no heed to his pleas.

Stiles whines when Derek works a second finger in, gently stretching him. He tries to push back, get Derek’s fingers in deeper, but Derek places his other hand in the small of Stiles’ back, pinning him down. Stiles makes a frustrated sound, he wantswantswants and Derek needs to give it to him.

“Easy,” Derek murmurs, “relax.”

“I want-” Stiles says, “please.”

“I know. Easy now.”

Derek presses a kiss just above where his fingers are pressing into Stiles, and Stiles is thankful to him for being gentle, but at the same time he sort of wishes Derek would just take because Derek surely needs as badly as Stiles does right now. Stiles can almost smell it, and he doesn’t have any fancy werewolf senses. His nerves are balling in the pit of his stomach because Derek is going to fuck him and he doesn’t want it to hurt but he also sort of wants it to be over with already.

The loss of contact is unsettling when Derek pulls his fingers out and sits up. Stiles flails for a moment, reaching his hand out in a desperate attempt to keep Derek where he is.

“Not like this,” Derek says, “come on, sit up.”

Stiles lets Derek help him, turns around to face Derek. Derek’s face is open, Stiles can read his concern and love clear as day, and he really has to kiss Derek. Derek meets the kiss, tongue licking into Stiles’ mouth; and Stiles can smell himself, taste himself, and it’s all too much.

“Please. Not gonna last. Please.

Derek hushes him, tries to kiss him again, but Stiles spots the bottle of lube beside them and he’s had enough teasing now, needs to take matters into his own hands. His hands are only shaking a little when he slicks them up before getting them on Derek’s dick.

Derek groans when Stiles touches him, bucks up in an aborted movement. Stiles knows his touches are probably frustratingly light, but he can’t stop himself from exploring, from tracing Derek’s slick length with curious fingers.

And Derek makes noises. Lots of pleased, soft little gasps and moans as he kisses along Stiles’ jaw, presses his nose in in behind Stiles’ ear. He is shaking with the effort to hold still, but he does, lets Stiles explore for as long as he needs to.

Stiles definitely wants to spend more time exploring all of Derek’s body some day, have Derek laid out for him and learn all about what Derek likes. But right now he’s so, so close and he wants Derek inside him when he comes, so he gives Derek’s a few long strokes to slick him up before getting his arms around Derek’s neck instead to pull him in for another kiss.

“Like this?” Stiles asks as he breaks the kiss. The nerves are back again, stomach churning, but he tries to put on a brave face because he really wants this and the nerves are stupid.

He’s maybe not doing a very good job at covering his nerves - damned werewolfy senses - if the look Derek gives him is anything to go by. Derek slides them backwards a little, props himself against the headboard.

“Like this.” He teases a finger along the rim of Stiles’ ass and Stiles sucks in a breath.

“Ready,” Stiles says, even as it feels like the ball of nerves in his stomach is exploding and spreading throughout his body, tingling just beneath his skin. “Derek. I want to, I’m ready.”

“Stiles,” Derek groans as he gets his hand on his dick and guides the blunt head into Stiles. “Stiles.

Stiles tries to concentrate on breathing. It’s by no means an easy slide in, Derek’s a good bit bigger than that stupid purple dildo, but it doesn’t hurt. He mostly just feels weirdly full, and his body wants to fight it, but he forces himself to relax, sinks down the last bit all on his own.

Derek stays still, breath coming in hot little puffs against Stiles’ neck, until Stiles grinds down against him, digs his fingers into Derek’s back and tells him to move. His thrusts are tortuously slow and shallow, letting Stiles get used to it, waiting for Stiles to speed it up. And Stiles does, because now that Derek’s inside him he desperately needs to come, and he doesn’t even have time to get a hand on himself before he does, his release warm and sticky between them.

He feels boneless after coming, and his attempts to keep fucking himself on Derek’s dick are feeble. Derek doesn’t seem to mind though, holds Stiles steady and fucks him, a little harder now, nosing and licking at Stiles’ neck. Stiles tips his head to the side instinctively, and Derek bruises him, teeth not breaking skin but leaving a mark that’s sure to last either way.

Derek’s come feels hot inside Stiles when he releases. It runs out of Stiles when Derek pulls out, and it’s sticky and disgusting but also the best feeling Stiles has ever felt. It’s like he’s marked by Derek inside and out and he loves it, wants Derek to know every part of him.

“Yours,” Stiles whispers, pressing his face against Derek’s sweaty chest.

Derek kisses the bruise he’s left on Stiles’ neck and draws Stiles even closer. “Mine.”