Stiles pokes him with her foot from the other end of the couch. "So, it's your birthday tomorrow," she says out of nowhere.
Derek frowns, partially because he'd sort of forgotten, but also because he doesn't think he ever told her when his birthday was. Stiles just finds shit out. "I guess," he says. "What about it?"
Stiles stares at him for a long moment, and he really can't puzzle her out. "Did you forget your own birthday?" she demands.
He shrugs. "It's not a big deal." He hasn't celebrated his birthday in years. He's not traumatized by it so far.
Stiles pokes him again. "Well, I'm going to make a big deal out of it."
Derek bites back a sigh. "Please tell me you didn't plan an elaborate surprise party and couldn't keep it to yourself any more."
Stiles rolls her eyes, but there's a spike of fondness in the air; the warm-sweet smell of sugar cookies out of the oven. "Yes, I just met you yesterday, I'm going to throw you a huge party you'll hate and I'm going to make you wear a big paper crown the whole time." she says. The worst part about it is- if she had, he would do it. Jackson jokes about Scott being whipped, but everyone knows he's really the whipped one in the pack.
"Well, so what, then?" he asks, grabbing her foot before it pokes him again, giving in to the impulse to trace the outline of her ankle bone with his thumb. She shivers and the spicy bite of her arousal still drives him to distraction, as potent as the first time, no matter how much he scents it.
"Just pencil me in on your overflowing social calendar tomorrow night," she tells him, tugging at his grip on her ankle. Derek holds tight, brushing his knuckle into the arch of her foot. Stiles shrieks with laughter and nearly kicks him in the face.
"I will kick you to death, give me back my foot," Stiles says.
Derek just drags her down the couch until he can pull her into his lap. "No," he says back, exhaling in satisfaction as Stiles' breathing quickens and the scent of her want fills the room. It feels like winning, like getting something he's wanted, every time.
"Seriously, though, tomorrow night. No plans?" she reiterates, biting her lip. Derek wants to bite it for her.
"You plans, those are my plans," he confirms, and then he lets himself bite that lip- slow, gentle.
Derek has a fatal lack of curiosity in general and more important things to think about at the time, but later, when Stiles has gone home ("If I fail English, I have to tell my dad why I failed and I don't think 'I was having sex with Derek' is really going to work as an excuse,") he lies on the couch, lingering in her scent covered in his, and wonders what she has planned. He figures it'll make her happy to do something and when she's happy, Derek is happy, so it all comes to the same point. She texts him the next morning, just a quick happy birthday, see you tonight that doesn't really explain further.
That being said, he's a little more curious when he hears her car pull up to the house around 6. He's wondering why she isn't getting out of the car when his phone starts ringing.
"You're alone in the house, right?" she asks as soon as he picks up. Stiles sounds nervous and excited and Derek can feel himself instinctively responding.
"Yes," he says, the restless familiar energy he associates with hunting and chasing Stiles gathering in his stomach.
"Okay, then," Stiles says and he can hear her take a deep breath in stereo, through the phone and outside. Her door opens and closes- her gait is different, careful, as it approaches the door and when she steps on to the porch he realizes why- she's wearing heels. He still can't see her, but he catches a whiff of her through the open window; excited, nervous, worried, aroused.
There are three loud knocks on the door. She's never bothered to knock before and Derek is already excited. He has no idea what game Stiles is playing, but he has a fair idea where winning leads.
He's grinning as he opens the door, but he feels like someone's hit him in the chest with a tree a second later.
Stiles is waiting on the other side, dressed as little red riding hood.
Derek doesn't know where to look- the perfect white little bows on the stockings just brushing the tops of her thighs, the blood red panties that aren't anything more than rows of ruffled lace, the black corset with its perfectly tied laces crossing over her stomach, the stark white of the peasant blouse that does nothing to hide the fact that Stiles isn't wearing a bra, or the bright red cape.
"I took a shortcut through the woods, but I didn't talk to any strangers, I hope that's okay," she says, obviously rehearsed, but it still leaves Derek reeling, the idea of her walking through the woods dressed like that, where anything could find her.
Derek feels like someone's cut all the strings between his brain and his body. He wants to say something, do something, but all he can do is stare; listen to the quick pulse of Stile's heart beat.
"Derek?" Stiles asks, a little concerned, breaking character. "Are you-"
"Stiles," Derek chokes out.
"Oh my god, I've broken you," Stiles says, reaching out to cup Derek's face. Her moving seems to shatter the spell; Derek grabs Stiles, just barely adjusting for the new, smaller difference in height between them. He's totally overcome with the need to touch her, claim her, make her his- touch every single inch of her.
"Get in here right now," Derek growls. He drags her inside, slamming the door and pinning Stiles against it, kissing her as deeply as he can, a moan vibrating against his mouth. Everything feels right because she's clawing at his back, her breasts pressing against his chest, her leg hooking up around him, her thigh pressing into his side.
"Now that's the wolf I know," Stiles says, gasping for breath when Derek goes for her impossibly long, perfect neck. "You going to eat me up? Or eat me out?"
Derek swears into her skin. "Stiles," Derek pants. Her lips, painted bright red, curve into a smile that Derek usually sees before she goes for the kill, doing something that will make Derek completely insane.
"You should see what's in my basket," she whispers.
Derek honestly could not have told you she was carrying a basket.
"Can't be better than this," Derek says, his hand coming up to palm at her breast through the thin cotton. Stiles arches against him, as gratifyingly responsive as usual, which, also as usual, completely ruins him for anything but wanting to make her come, again and again, until she can't take any more.
"You might like this," Stiles purrs at him and Derek decides he can spare a second.
There's only one thing in the basket- chocolate sauce.
"I didn't get you cake, but Red's supposed to bring something sweet in her basket, right?" she says and Derek is already imagining her laid out on his bed, sugar-sticky and screaming.
"Upstairs," Derek manages, his voice sounding hoarse and wild.
Stiles grinds her hips against his, her leg inching higher on his back, the point of the heel scraping his ass. "Make me."
It's probably not fair that Stiles knows exactly what will make him craziest, make him feel like his blood is boiling under his skin- knows it and uses it against him with alarming frequency. Then again, no one loses when he grabs her other leg, locks it around his waist and carries her upstairs, Stiles laughing with satisfaction the whole way.
"You know, that's what I like about fairy tales," she says, her arms wrapping around his neck. "I always know what's coming next. For example, I know that you're going to rip this off of me, cover me in chocolate and devour me. I've been thinking about it all day, distracted, wet." Stiles has a filthy mouth in bed- it makes Derek want to lock her up and not come out until they've broken all the beds in the house and need a new one.
"Did anyone notice?" Derek demands. He might have to kill someone.
Stiles hums, clutching tighter as Derek smacks the door to his bedroom open with his elbow. "No, Lydia warned the boys to give me a wide berth today." she explains. "I knew otherwise I'd be spending the night waiting for you to decide not to kill them. Which is ridiculous, but I know you. Honestly, like Scott or Jackson would touch me? They know I'm yours." Hearing her say it like that, no euphemisms, nothing, makes Derek feel like he's going to catch on fire.
"You are," he agrees. He lays her out on the bed, the red hood slipping down, her brown hair tumbling out over her shoulders.
"So what are you going to do with me?" she asks, and she sounds coy, but Derek can hear how quick her breath is, see the way her breasts press against the shirt with it; not just smell her arousal, but see it, the panties darker, wet, against her pussy. He crawls on top of her, taking a moment to kiss her completely breathless.
"Well, I'm going to tear this off you," Derek starts, letting his claws out, carefully, carefully ripping the laces out of the corset. Stiles lets out a whimper, her brown eyes going wide and dark. "Then I'm going to cover you with chocolate and eat you." He gets himself back under control, using a safely human finger to hook under the top of the stocking and lets it snap back against her thigh.
"Might let these stay," he allows. He likes the idea of her in stockings and heels and nothing else. "They're cute. But the rest has got to go."
"Go on, don't let me stop you," Stiles says, letting Derek peel the cape, shirt and underwear off her, like it's a treat. It is, though. She knows he loves undressing her, revealing her perfect breasts and ass, the familiar landscape of her body.
He reaches over to the edge of the bed where the basket is lying open, pulling out the sauce. It's expensive looking, and when he opens the jar, it's thick like fudge, not runny. It smells rich and perfectly chocolatey; Stiles is probably the only person who knows about his weakness for chocolate. It had occurred to him before to combine his two favorite tastes- Stiles and chocolate- but it's so much better that she actually did it. He dips a finger in and offers it to her.
"It's your birthday, you get first taste," she protests.
Derek shakes his head. "Believe me, it'll taste better this way," he says, smearing a bit across her lower lip. "Open."
Stiles obediently opens her mouth, a little "mmm" escaping when his finger brushes over her tongue. The instant the chocolate is off his finger his thumb is pressing down on her chin, opening her mouth to him, letting him taste her immediately. It's even better than he thought it'd be, Stiles warm and pliant beneath him, the chocolate melting into his mouth.
"God, that's good," Stiles groans when he finally has to come up for air, the chocolate gone from her mouth. There's still a smudge on her lip and Derek is pleased to suck it off. "I know it's your birthday, but really, I'm getting a pretty good present right now."
"Good," Derek agrees. Knowing Stiles is enjoying herself is half the fun. He presses a kiss on the side of her breast, and when there's a smudge of chocolate left behind from his own mouth, he naturally licks that clean as well. Derek dips his fingers into the jar again before safely putting it on the night stand. He leaves chocolate fingerprints across her body- in the hollow of her throat, over her nipple. The breathy, restless noises she makes are painfully arousing, the involuntary "ah!" that comes out when he sucks her nipple clean, her hands clutching the sheets- they all leave Derek with a powerful need to make her get loud, make her come.
"Is my mouth clean?" he asks, and she drags him up to kiss him thoroughly.
"It is now," she says. "Why?"
"Because I want to do this." He slides down her body, holds her open and licks right across her clit, just to hear her scream with surprise.
"Jesus, fuck!" Stiles shouts, her hands flying to his hair to hold his head in place. Derek loves going down on her- loves the way her hands will tangle in his hair and pull, how she'll start swearing and screaming and begging- thrashing unless he holds her down. He can't get enough of it, and neither can Stiles, apparently.
"Oh my god, yes, ah, oh fuck, fuck me," she moans, Derek working her fast and mercilessly, just hard pressure right on her clit. "Oh, you fucking asshole, you know I can't- mm, shit, you know I'm going to come so fast."
Derek hums his agreement into her pussy, Stiles shrieking with pleasure. She's so sensitive, so responsive that Derek has to reach down and press his hand against his dick to stop himself from coming in his pants. Which reminds him that he's still fucking fully dressed, jesus.
"Come on, yes, Derek, fuck, come on- right there," Stiles tugs hard. "Shit, you're going to fuck me so good, aren't you, want to get me sloppy wet so I'm so ready for you, oh, fuck."
Derek groans. Her fucking filthy mouth.
"Derek, please, please, please," she begs. "I've wanted you all day, I need you to make me come- Derek!" He sucks hard, slipping a finger inside her, and Stiles screams her way through her orgasm, shaking as he works her through it until she's squirming away from his mouth.
"Jesus," she breathes out, drawing heaving breaths like she's been running for her life. "Why the fuck aren't you naked?"
Derek doesn't know either. He strips down as fast as he can, avoiding touching his dick, which is fairly dying for attention. "Can I-" he starts but Stiles just points to the drawer where he keeps the condoms.
"I'm not going to leave you out. It's birthday sex, come on," she says, grinning and he doesn't know how he got her, but he's going to do everything he can to keep her. He grabs a condom and slips it on carefully. Derek takes a second, because Stiles lets out this little noise when he lines himself up and if he doesn't take a second he's going to seriously embarrass himself.
"Are you sure?" he asks her. He knows she has to be even more sensitive now.
Stiles nods frantically. "Yes, you're such a tease, fuck, I'm so ready," she tugs at him until he's flush with her. Derek goes as slow as he can stand, and for all Stiles is slick and wet, she's still so tight.
"Fuck, Stiles," Derek grits out.
She laughs, which only makes her tighter. "That's the idea," she jokes and Derek groans. "What? You love it, you know you do."
"I love you in spite of the wordplay," he sighs out, and it strikes him that maybe he's never said it in so many words before. Stiles is staring up at him, her eyes wide open and surprised. Derek feels strangely caught off guard. "I thought you knew."
She pulls him down into a feverish kiss. "I do, I do. I- you too. I love you." she says. "That's good. I'm- yeah." Stiles is biting her lip to hide a smile, one of those big happy ones that make Derek feel like an idiot. There's a weird, fragile tension until Stiles shivers and shifts her hips underneath him. "Derek, you have to move, I don't have any leverage to fuck you."
Derek huffs a surprised laugh against her cheek. "Whatever you want," he tells her, painfully honest, happiness making his chest feel tight.
"I just want you," she says, quiet, almost to herself. Derek just kisses her and kisses her, slowly taking Stiles apart until she's writhing underneath him.
"Derek, Derek," she whines, leaving red scratch marks on his back that fade away almost instantly. "Please."
He comes without any warning, and it's all he can do to slip a hand between them. She always comes easier the second time around and this time is no exception- she comes with a strangled moan, almost too much while he's still buried inside her. They just breathe for a minute or two; Derek loves the way Stiles smells after sex. The spice of lingering arousal, the almost vanilla smell of satisfaction, how she smells like him, too.
"Just think," Stiles cards a hand through his hair, trying to flatten it back out. "Just think what I'm going to do on your next birthday."