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Knot Again

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The first time it’s not really a problem. At least not until Derek makes it one.

It’s the first time they’ve done this - Derek knotting Stiles that is - and it’s fan-fucking-tastic.

Two months ago, when they started their whole friends-with-benefits thing, Stiles didn’t even know knotting was an option (or an actual thing outside of some seriously disturbing fetish porn). He had just come home from his junior year of college and he was horny. Because sex with other college students is so frustratingly mediocre.

Here’s the thing- Stiles had his sexual awakening around the time his best friend got turned into a werewolf. He lost his virginity to a werecoyote who lived in the woods as an actual coyote for nine years; he then spent the next eight months having very enthusiastic sex with her.

The first guy he had sex with was a- well, honestly, Stiles isn’t sure what he was but he was definitely something; he had the glowing eyes and the whole I’m-the-hero-but-I-could-just-as-easily-be-the-villain thing going on. And most of Stiles’ friends are supernatural creatures with supernatural strength and other supernatural... inclinations.

The point is Stiles has some kinks and the average coed doesn’t cut it. Sex with regular college students is just so incredibly vanilla; they’re so embarrassed about what they want, so inhibited.

Stiles is not. He likes being pinned down, likes knowing his partner can smell how much he wants them, likes when they have a thing for biting and marking, likes the thrill of not knowing if they’re going to lose control and get too rough, likes when they do get a little too rough, likes knowing that he can lose control without hurting them.

And don’t even get him started on the neck thing.

Sure, sometimes he wants to slow bone it out in missionary but even then, sex with non-supernaturals is fairly disappointing. It always feels like something’s missing.

So when he got back into town for the summer, vibrating out of his skin with sexual frustration, and Derek asked him what his problem was, it wasn’t long before they came to a mutually beneficial agreement. One that involves very little clothing, a lot of mind-blowing orgasms, and all of Stiles’ kinks (and even a few he didn’t know he had).

Then, two days ago, while still trying to catch their breath after some particularly vigorous activity that may or may not have involved Isaac’s favorite armchair, Derek brought up a very specific new ability he gained when he mastered the full-shift.

After Stiles got over the shock of knotting being an actual thing- a rare one that Derek is capable of- it didn’t take him long to decide that hell yes he wants to do that.

And that’s how they ended up here: laying together in Derek’s bed- Derek’s chest to Stiles’ back- waiting for Derek’s knot to go down so they can separate. It’s not unpleasant, only slightly uncomfortable, and though it hurt a little at first, it ended up giving Stiles the most intense orgasm he’s ever had; he’s pretty sure he blacked out for a few minutes.

Derek is laying behind him, holding him flush against his chest and breathing into the back of his neck. It’s kind of nice actually. Stiles feels warm and sated and sex-happy. He doesn’t even care that he’s had to lie still for the last ten minutes or that he’s going to be stuck like this for who knows how much longer. Totally worth it for the the intensity of the awesomely kinky sex he just had.

But then his phone rings. It’s not out of reach- it’s on the nightstand right next to the bed- and it’s not like he has anything else to do right now; and no matter how fucked-out he is, he’s still Stiles, so he reaches out for it, which earns him a groan from Derek and a “Stop. Moving.”

“Calm down, I’m not going anywhere,” Stiles says, grabbing his phone and settling back into his position against Derek. He swipes his thumb across the screen to accept the call. “Hey, Scotty. What’s up?”

Scott launches into a story about some girl from one of his summer classes whose hair smells like some kind of flower but Stiles is having trouble focusing on what Scott’s saying because Derek has started mouthing at his shoulder- biting and licking and sucking- and it’s distracting.

He swats at Derek’s face half-heartedly and says, “Scott, I’m sure if you ask her out, she’ll say yes. Just don’t be the creepy guy that tells her her hair smells like-”

Stiles has to bite down on his hand because Derek rolls his hips forward, his knot brushing right up against Stiles’ prostate, then tugging on his rim, and holy mother of god does that feel good.

“Stiles?” Scott says on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, buddy,” Stiles rasps out, trying to focus on the conversation.

Derek rolls his hips again and Stiles has to bury his face in the pillow while he stifles a moan. He slaps Derek’s thigh but Derek just smiles against the back of his neck, clearly pleased with himself.

“Stiles, what are you doing?” Scott asks over the phone.

“What do you mean what am I doing? I’m not doing anything. Nothing. I’m doing noth- hnnggggg.”

Derek rolls his hips again and Stiles is going to kill him.

“Stiles, are you having sex?” Scott asks cautiously, like he’s not sure he really wants to know the answer.

“What?” Stiles squawks. “Of course I’m not having sex. Why would I answer the phone if I was having sex? Who even does that?”

“Then why are you panting?”

“I’m not paaaannnn- hnnnn -ting,” Stiles says as Derek rolls him onto his stomach and starts moving his hips in small circles. “Oh my god,” Stiles moans.

“Seriously, Stiles?” Scott whines and hangs up.

“I hate you,” Stiles says to Derek, no heat behind it, phone falling out of his hand. He’s pushing back to meet Derek’s shallow thrusts now.

“I told you not to move,” Derek teases, nipping at his ear.

Stiles can’t even bring himself to be angry or annoyed or anything other than incredibly turned on. It feels so good. Every little movement sends a spark of pleasure through his body.

He feels so amazing that he’d be okay with dying right in this moment, with this being the last experience he ever has. In fact, he’s not entirely sure he’s not already dead and this isn’t heaven.

He’s not even that upset when, forty-five minutes later, after they’ve finally separated, he finds a text from Scott. 

Who r u boning in BH?

Having to lie to Scott about who he’s sleeping with is totally worth it.


The second time it happens it’s nobody’s fault.

No, that’s not true. It’s entirely his dumb-ass roommate’s fault.

If you tell somebody you’re going out of town for the weekend, you really have no right to be upset when you come home only a few hours later to find them bare-ass naked in an extremely compromising position with their not-boyfriend-werewolf-fuck-buddy. It’s your own damn fault.

Fortunately, neither Derek nor Stiles are particularly shy about sex and it doesn’t really matter if Stiles’ college roommate knows Derek’s taking him to Pound Town. He doesn’t even know who Derek is.

Unfortunately, he walks in just as Derek’s knot has started to swell inside Stiles’ ass- Stiles’ chest  and stomach freshly painted with his own come of course- and well, the polite thing to do when somebody walks in on you is to pull apart, try to cover up, and at least pretend to be embarrassed.

But that’s not really an option here and since knotting isn’t a thing that even most werewolves know about, it sure as hell isn’t a thing that sheltered dude-bros from Oxnard know about.

So there’s really no way to explain why they just sit there staring at him- Derek on his knees, cock buried deep in Stiles’ ass and Stiles, with his back to Derek’s chest, sitting down in Derek’s lap, head tilted back to rest on Derek’s shoulder.

There’s also no way to explain the noise that comes out of Stiles’ mouth when Derek reaches back to try and grab a pillow to cover Stiles’ softening dick with, his knot tugging on Stiles’ rim.

And of course, the pillows are out of reach.

There’s a lot of horrified staring.

“I, uh, I thought you were going home to visit your parents for the weekend, Connor,” Stiles says faux-casually, scratching his chin and not even bothering to cover his junk with his hands. For some reason he decides it’s best to just pretend like there’s nothing awkward about this situation at all, like nothing needs to be covered up.

Derek is still pulsing and expanding inside him. His face is buried in Stiles’ neck now, presumably trying to muffle the involuntary whimpers that are still trying to escape his mouth, and his hands are clutching at Stiles’ hips, instinctively trying to pull him down further on his knot.

It’s all very surreal.

“Yeah, I was but uh, I, um, I- I forgot-” Connor says. He’s obviously trying to pretend like Stiles isn’t the world’s biggest pervert and Stiles is grateful, he really is, but there’s really no point because his dick is already getting hard again due to the angle he’s sitting on Derek’s knot at, and trying to cover it up now would probably just make things worse.

If that’s even possible.

“I’m just gonna-” Connor hooks a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the door.

“I think that’s probably for the best,” Stiles says, avoiding eye contact. The fact that he still has to live with this guy for another seven months is the only thing that’s stopping him from touching himself right now. He’s already harder than he was before his first orgasm just minutes ago.

Connor leaves without getting whatever it is he came back for and before he’s even all the way out the door, Stiles is stroking himself and grinding down onto Derek’s knot, shamelessly moaning oh fuck, Derek, yes, fuck, fuck.

Derek sinks his slightly sharper than human teeth into Stiles’ shoulder and Stiles is coming all over himself again.

He thinks it’s probably time to add exhibitionism to his rapidly growing list of kinks.


The third time it happens they actually get kind of lucky.

They’re at the loft watching a movie, cuddled under a blanket on the couch. Stiles likes movies. He really does. And he didn’t show up with the intention of getting off. He came with the rest of the pack to hang out while everyone was home for winter break.

But the rest of the pack has gone home and Stiles hasn’t had sex with Derek in almost two months and he’s horny, okay. He’s fucking horny because sex with his fellow college students is still just as plain and boring as ever and he wants to fuck the hot guy sitting next to him that knows how to do that thing with his tongue that makes his entire body convulse.

So sue him if a little making out leads to a little dry humping and a little dry humping leads to Derek’s fingers pumping in and out of him. And, well, if he’s going to take four fingers up his ass, he might as well just sit himself down on that perfectly uncut cock that’s already dripping wet.

That’s how Stiles finds himself straddling Derek on the couch, head thrown back in unabashed ecstasy as Derek thrusts up one last time to push his knot all the way in before it gets too big to penetrate Stiles’ rim.

That’s also when the steel door to the loft starts to slide open.

At least Stiles still has his shirt on, only having taken the time to get his hoodie off; and the blanket is still on the couch next to them. Derek grabs it and drapes it around their waists so they’re not completely exposed while they have this conversation with whoever’s about to walk in and find them stuck together.

Or, to be more semantically accurate, tied together. 

To say it’s going to be awkward is the understatement of the century.

Really, Stiles is just praying for it to be anybody but Isaac.

Or Scott. Explaining why Stiles can’t get off of Derek’s dick is really not a conversation Stiles wants to have with his best friend, who also happens to be his alpha.

He thanks every god he can think of when Kira is the one to walk in.

“What are you guys doing?” she asks naively when she sees Stiles in Derek’s lap.

“Uh,” Stiles says over his shoulder. He thinks the answer to that question should be fairly obvious given the discarded clothes on the floor, the blanket wrapped around their waists, Derek’s bare chest and, you know, the part where Stiles is straddling him.

“Stiles is helping me with something,” Derek cuts in, his voice strained.

He must sense that Stiles is about to say something obnoxious (he is, he is totally about to say yeah helping you with your dick) because he digs his fingers into Stiles’ thighs and Stiles shuts his mouth with a click.

He’s facing Derek now- the pressure on his prostate from trying to twist around was getting to be too much- but he’s pretty sure that Kira is looking at them skeptically because then Derek continues with, “I needed him to look at something for me.”

There’s a moment of silence in which Stiles assumes Kira is looking at Derek confused.

“It’s kind of in a difficult spot,” Derek says quietly, feigning embarrassment.

“Oh! Oh my god. I’m so sorry,” Kira starts rambling. “I just came to get my jacket. I left it here earlier. Oh look, there it is. I’ll just get out of here then. I’m so sorry for barging in. I hope everything’s okay. Let me know if you need anything, Derek. I mean, not that I could really do anything but I’ll totally go to the doctor with you if you want. Or I guess you probably don’t go to the doctor, do you? What about Deaton? Or whoever. Just let me know. I promise I won’t tell anybody about this. I mean, if Stiles can keep your secret so can I. Not that you should feel like you need to keep it a secret, whatever it is. Wow, I’m rambling. I’m just going to go now.”

Kira shuts the door and Stiles and Derek stare at each other.

“Did that- Did that actually work?” Stiles asks in awe, still completely blown away by Kira’s gullibility.

“I think it did,” Derek says, nodding slowly.

“You know Kira can’t keep a secret to save her life, right?”


“And everyone’s going to think you have some weird… growth.”


After a moment of silence, Stiles says, “Well, I mean, technically-”


“You wouldn’t even be lying-”


“You could just say there was some-”

“Stiles, I swear to-.”


Derek slaps his ass, then flips them so that he’s on top of Stiles who is now on his back on the couch. The movement hurts for a second but the pain quickly turns into pleasure, which somehow ends with Stiles reciting poetry about Derek’s penis. 

“Oh hey I wrote a limerick

About how much I love your dick

Your knot is swell

I might as well

Tell you it’s the one I’ll always pick”

Derek doesn’t even pretend to be exasperated. He just chuckles against Stiles’ neck and runs his fingers through his hair affectionately.


The fourth time is definitely their fault.

After the close call with Kira over winter break, they decided to limit themselves to less… involved sex, just incase another situation arose in which they had to separate quickly, which of course never happened because the universe doesn’t care if they’re fucking, it’s only cares if it can catch them in the most mortifying situation possible.

Which this might be.

Because Stiles didn’t tell anyone he was coming home for the weekend. Anyone except Derek that is.

It’s been three months since the last time they saw each other and Stiles has completely given up on sleeping with other people- the sex just isn’t satisfying and honestly, he’d rather argue with Derek over the phone about mundane shit and then jerk-off to the sound of him panting down the line, telling him what he plans to do to him the next time they see each other.

So when Stiles makes the six hour drive back to Beacon Hills, his only priority is to get naked with Derek, which is exactly what he’s doing in the back seat of his very-recognizable Jeep, parked on what he thought was a mostly abandoned backroad at one o’clock in the morning.

It’s a tight fit but they somehow manage to get Stiles flat on his back, his legs wrapped around Derek’s waist, while Derek thrusts into him, one hand sliding down the condensation that’s gathered on the window, their bodies trembling with pleasure.

It’s all very Titanic and they’re so caught up in the heat of the moment that they decide that yes, this is the perfect place for Derek to knot Stiles again because what could possibly go wrong when you’re secretly fucking your not-boyfriend in the backseat of your very easy-to-spot car in a town that your father is the sheriff of?

Well, the Titanic did hit an iceberg so Stiles really shouldn’t be all that surprised when flashing blue and red lights illuminate the dark just as Derek’s knot starts to swell inside of him. They don’t even have a blanket to cover themselves with this time and Stiles prays - he prays - that it is not his dad. He would rather be mistaken for a prostitute and get arrested than have to face his dad with come drying on his chest and Derek’s cock still swelling inside him.

A light shines briefly inside the Jeep (Stiles is still muttering prayers under his breath for it not to be his dad), followed by a knock on the already-cracked-open-a-couple-of-inches driver’s side window.

“Didn’t know you were in town, Stiles,” comes Jordan’s voice.

And thank all that is good and holy in the world for Deputy Jordan Parrish and his existence.

Stiles lets out a breath of relief at the same time as Derek sags against him.

“Heeey,” Stiles says, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. “I’m not technically supposed to be in town.”

“Well how about you put your clothes back on so you can get out of here and I can pretend I never saw any of this,” Jordan says, amusement clear in his voice.

“Yeaaaah, that’s not really an option at the moment.”

Jordan clears his throat. “Do I even want to know?”

“Really not.”

“Does this have something to do with the kanima?”

“What?” Stiles questions, no idea what Jackson could possibly have to do with anything that is happening right now.

Derek starts laughing silently on top of him. The movement is not helping the situation. Stiles has to bite his tongue to keep from making any inappropriate (read: pornographic) sounds.

“Never mind,” Jordan says. Then, “See you on Tuesday, Derek?”

“Seven o’clock,” Derek confirms.

By the time Jordan is gone, Derek is cracking up and Stiles would be mad, because hello that could’ve been his father and this was a terrible, no-good, very bad idea, but well, Derek’s laugh is kind of contagious and Stiles can’t help laughing too.

And if they end up renting a cheap motel room just outside of Beacon Hills, alternating between having intense slow-bone-athons and watching shitty cable tv for the rest of the weekend, well it’s only because they’re afraid of getting caught again.

Definitely has nothing to do with things like feelings or emotions.


By the fifth time, Stiles is convinced the universe is just playing a cruel joke on them.

It’s his last night in his tiny one-bedroom college apartment. Connor has already moved out (and honestly, Stiles is still shocked he lasted the entire year). All of Stiles’ things are packed. His mattress isn’t even on a frame- it’s just laying on the floor.

His dad and most of the pack are coming tomorrow to watch him graduate but for tonight, it’s just him and Derek.

At least it’s supposed to be just him and Derek.

They’re spooning on the mattress, waiting for Derek’s knot to go down, just like the first time he knotted Stiles at the loft. Derek has his arm wrapped around Stiles, his hand splayed over his heart. He’s telling Stiles about one of his more memorable experiences riding the subway when he was living in New York. His voice is low, almost a whisper, and his lips move against Stiles’ neck, sending shivers down his spine.

“Are you cold?” Derek asks softly, pulling the blanket up higher and covering Stiles’ toes with one of his feet.

Stiles doesn’t answer, just turns his head to catch Derek’s mouth in a kiss. Derek props himself up on his elbow to deepen it and Stiles reaches back to get his hand in Derek’s hair. It’s not long before they’re rocking against each other again, Derek’s knot coaxing Stiles closer and closer to his second orgasm. They haven’t stopped kissing, clinging to each other desperately, even through all of the gasping.

It feels like they’re on the verge of something when, of course, Stiles hears the front door open, followed by Scott’s voice booming through the apartment -“Surprise!”- right before he appears in the open-doorway to the bedroom.

Scott freezes, his face stricken with horror, while Isaac, Lydia, and Malia bump into him, similar expressions of shock crossing their faces as they take in the scene before them.

“I’m gonna have to bleach my brain to get rid of this image,” Isaac mutters, from behind the arm he’s using to cover his nose, presumably to block out the scent of what they’ve been doing.

“You didn’t even see anything,” Stiles snaps back, gesturing at the blanket covering them.

“I saw tongues,” Scott says weakly.

“Dude, what the hell are you guys even doing here?” Stiles asks. He doesn’t mean to sound unhappy to see them but dammit, he was having what felt like a very significant moment with Derek and now that moment’s ruined.

Not that either of their dicks got the memo because yeah, Derek is definitely still stuck all up in his ass, and Stiles is still achingly hard and leaking pre-come.

Though that might have something to do with the fact that Derek’s hand is still wrapped around him and he keeps swiping his thumb over the head because he’s the world’s biggest asshole.

And yeah, Stiles is pretty sure he’s in love with him.

“We came to surprise you,” Malia says, tilting her head like maybe that’ll help her see what’s happening under the blanket.

“Is there any reason you guys aren’t, like, trying to put your clothes back on?” Scott asks.

Stiles groans and buries his face in the pillow. The movement sends a wave of pleasure through his body, and it must do the same for Derek because his hand tightens around Stiles’ cock while his head falls to Stiles’ shoulder, and both of them fail to suppress a moan.

Stiles can’t see anybody’s face but he can feel their expressions of judgement and horror and disbelief. And probably intrigue because, honestly, they’re just as bad as he is.

It’s silent for a moment and he hopes that means they’ve decided to at least leave the room until he and Derek are clothed again but he really should know better. That’s not his kind of luck and his friends have no sense of personal boundaries.

Lydia clucks her tongue, then says, “You figured out how to knot him, didn’t you?”

Stiles’ head shoots up to look at her. He ignores the confused expressions on the rest of their faces and narrows his eyes at her because how the hell does she know that?

As if reading his mind, she shrugs and says, “I read about it in the bestiary.”

“What the hell is knotting?” Isaac asks, though he doesn’t sound like he really wants the answer.

Realization dawns on Scott’s face- probably recalling something from his time working at the animal clinic with Deaton- and he shakes his head. “You don’t want to know.”

“I do,” Malia says.

Stiles makes a noise of frustration because why? Why are his friends still standing here, insisting on having this conversation right now while he still has Derek’s dick in his ass? He really needs to talk to them about what is and what is not acceptable social behavior.

And yes, he is aware of the irony of that statement, given the precarious situations he continues to find himself in.

Derek kisses his shoulder, soft and sweet, like that’s just what they do- comfort each other when the rest of the world makes them want to pull out their hair.

Then, Derek starts talking for the first time since their friends showed up.

“In about fifteen seconds I’m gonna start thrusting again whether or not you guys are still here.” He kisses Stiles’ neck, strokes his fist down the shaft of Stiles’ cock once, and Stiles has to bite down on his fist to keep quiet. He doesn’t want to wait fifteen seconds for Derek to start fucking him again (yeah, he has no business lecturing anyone on acceptable social behavior).

“So how about we save the anatomy lesson for after I make Stiles come,” Derek says with finality, making Stiles shudder.

Something about the way Derek dismisses them to focus all of his attention on Stiles and his pleasure, like he really couldn’t be any less concerned with their presence as long as he still gets to do this, has heat pooling low in Stiles’ stomach.

He can’t stop the guttural moan that’s pulled from his chest when Derek rolls his hips forward; and he almost misses the impressed look on both Lydia’s and Malia’s faces before Isaac and Scott drag them out of the room.

The next thing he knows he’s caught up in a searing kiss with Derek and his orgasm is quickly being wrenched out of him. Derek is stroking him in time to his steady thrusts and he lets Stiles’ mouth go so he can whisper, “Want you to come for me, Stiles. Come on my knot.”

Stiles comes so hard he thinks he sees god.

After that, it doesn’t take very long for Derek’s knot to go down enough for them to separate. While they’re wiping themselves off and getting dressed, Stiles says, “I don’t think they’re gonna believe us if we tell them this was the first time this happened.”

Derek stops zipping his jeans to raise his eyebrows at Stiles. “Why would we tell them this was the first time?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says. “I thought you wanted to keep this,” he gestures between them, “a secret.”

“I never said that,” Derek says, buttoning his jeans.

“So you don’t care if everybody knows?”

Derek pulls his shirt on. “If they know what? That I’m fucking you or that I’m in love with you?”

Stiles drops the sock he was just about to put on and gapes at Derek. There are no words coming to him. Derek just implied that he loves him and Stiles’ mind is racing but he can’t make any of the thoughts in his head come out of his mouth. He’s speechless and speechless is not the thing to be when the guy you’re stupidly in love with tells you that he loves you.

Words- any words would be good right now.

Derek walks over to him and picks up the sock, helps him put it on. “I don’t care who knows about us, Stiles, and I really don’t care what you tell them we are as long as I’m the one you’re coming home to.”

Stiles still doesn’t have any words so he pulls Derek up and kisses him with everything he has. He’s pretty sure Derek gets the message.

Even though it takes them far longer than it should to finally go find their friends, they seem genuinely happy for them (and not all that surprised). Stiles doesn’t even mind answering Malia’s and Lydia’s questions about their sex life now that he knows Derek doesn’t care either.

Besides, he’s pretty sure Derek is explaining how his knot works in great detail simply for the look of abject horror on Isaac’s face.

Yeah, Stiles is definitely in love with Derek.


The good thing about being in a relationship that all of their friends know about is they don’t have to sneak around anymore.

The bad thing is that their friends somehow manage to become even nosier while knocking even less.

Or maybe it just seems like they’re knocking less because Stiles and Derek are having so much more sex. Like so much more sex. All the sex. All the time. It’s glorious.

Except for the part where there’s no knotting. Because Derek has come to the conclusion - based on past experience - that knotting increases their chances of being interrupted by approximately one-hundred percent and, apparently, he’s a little territorial about other people seeing Stiles’ O-face (though he seems to be perfectly okay with them hearing it).

Stiles would find it weird but it turns out Derek being territorial is just another kink on his list, and really, it’s probably a lot weirder that Stiles doesn’t care if his friends are in the room when he comes.

The point is, they’re an actual couple now and Stiles is pretty sure they have Derek’s knot to thank for that, so it’s really only fair that said knot gets to be part of the relationship.

So when, after a month of mind-blowing but knot-less sex, Derek is still saying, “I just want to fuck you without someone walking in,” well, Stiles can’t be blamed for what he says next.

“Our friends they don’t know how to knock

But dammit Derek I love your cock

So stick it in

It’s not a sin

To knot me so hard I cannot walk.”

And it works. Derek sits on the bed, leaning against the headboard, and lets Stiles ride him until his knot is swelling inside him. They manage to get Stiles’ legs wrapped around Derek and sit like that, facing each other, for the next twenty-five minutes, kissing and laughing and staring into each other’s eyes like the sickeningly sweet goobers they are.

Nobody interrupts them.