“So, um, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when you said you wanted to repay me,” Stiles says, apprehension coiled in the pit of his stomach. Derek’s wet, well, they both are, but Stiles had been drying off a little before Derek pressed him against the wall with his body. “I was thinking maybe after you gave me a ride, you just wouldn’t kill me later? Ever?” Derek stops sniffing at a spot just beneath his ear to nip at his jaw.
“But, this is really not—“
“You reek of lust. This is what you want, so just. Stop. Talking.”
Derek starts unzipping him, peeling away his track suit. “Isn’t it funny? I mean, symbolically. Me, red hoodie; you, werewolf.” Derek’s breath is hot against his throat, almost distracts from the slick scrape of teeth against his jugular. “What can I say? Symbolism makes me horny. It is kind of—“
But then his mouth is covered by Derek’s, and this is new. The kissing. The man-kissing. Stiles doesn’t really have a wealth of experience in that area. At all. Well, once, when he was thirteen, but that had been Scott and had lasted all of three seconds. And there wasn’t any tongue. Derek, on the other hand, has a tongue. A very aggressive tongue, actually, because he’s definitely mapped out all of Stile’s mouth by now, and is this what actually kissing men is like? Because it doesn’t really taste or feel like Lydia, but he isn’t sure that’s a bad thing. And Derek has kind of grabby hands, which is also kind of not bad, and who is he kidding? He’s jerked himself off to the idea of Derek pressing him against a wall before. It isn’t like this isn’t pretty high on his list of fantasies.
After a second, Stiles realizes two things:
1) all of those inappropriate boners are way appropriate now, and
2) he isn’t wearing a shirt anymore.
He pulls his mouth away to say something about it, but Derek just grabs him by the backs of his thighs and hoists him up so he has no choice but to wrap his legs around Derek’s waist. And moan pathetically because that is a great place to be, alignment-wise. God. And Derek’s started this rhythm, rolling into him, that makes him want to be naked and shameless. It’s delicious. Almost as delicious as Derek’s mouth, because even if he can very, very faintly taste blood, he tastes good and kisses in a way that makes Stiles’ lips numb and eyes close.
And then he isn’t against his bedroom wall anymore. His back is against his bed and his wet pants are being dragged off of him. He can’t hide, now. He’s naked, cock leaking a little and curved towards his belly, and Derek just stares at him. He’s still fully clothed, and just frozen, eyes traveling up and down and up and down. It’s the first time Stiles has ever felt attractive, like something to be lusted over.
Then he lets out this growl, far more wolf than human, and rip/yanks his shirt off, scrabbling at his pants.
“Whoa there, someone’s eager. Not that I mind, what with the abs and oh my God—“ Derek pounces on him, between his spread legs and when did he become such a slut? Large hands pull his legs further open, hitch them up higher around Derek’s body. Their mouths are quite kissing, but they’re breathing against each other, hot and damp and it shouldn’t be a turn on, but it so, so is.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he says, almost like it’s meant to be a warning, like he’s being considerate.
“Kinda figured. You don’t seem like the kind of guy to work your way through the bases. Not that that’s a bad thing—“
“No, you don’t understand.” Derek pants against his ear, rolling their hips together agonizingly slow. “I’m going to claim you from the inside out. I’m going to make you moan, I’m going to make you scream, I’m going to make it so you forget what words even are. I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’re going to feel it for days and it’ll make you think of me. I’m going to make you smell like me and I’m going to fill you with my come until it leaks out of you—“ Stiles couldn’t hold back a whimper at that “—Yeah, you like that? You like the idea of me marking you with my come? So that any other wolf who gets near you will smell what we’ve done? How you’re mine?”
“JesusfuckingChrist, Derek, you can’t say stuff like that. Or I’ll—“
Derek rubs his rough cheek against him. “Or you’ll what? Tell me.” His hands grip Stiles by the ass and pull their bodies together, slick with sweat and pre-come. It’s fucking devastating.
“Or I’ll come before you can do anything.”
“Yeah?” Stiles can feel him grinning, wishes he could see it. “Then I’ll make you come again. And again. And again. Until you can’t think past my cock inside of you, can’t breathe, until you pass out from it. And I won’t stop until you’re messy and loose, until your body forgets that I’m not a part of you.” Stiles just whines, so close, just thinking about it, but one of Derek’s hands slides between them, and just his thumb brushes against the head of Stiles’ cock, and Jesus, he’s coming, arching off the bed, biting halfway through his lip. Making a mess between their bodies. He looks down at it, blushing a little at how obscene it is.
Derek leans back, sitting on his heels, staring down. It’s way hard, but Stiles tries not to stare at him, tries not to let his mouth water because he just came goddamnit, he can’t be ready….Derek swipes a finger through the mess and presses it against Stiles’ mouth, smears it a little.
“Taste yourself. I bet you have before. I bet it makes you hot.” Stiles doesn’t know why, doesn’t know what baser instincts Derek’s voice triggers, but he sucks the finger into his mouth like a girl in a porno. “Yeah, that’s it. Get my fingers all wet for me. Just like that. Show me how much you want it.”
If Stiles is a talker and Derek the brooding silent type normally, it’s apparently reversed for sex, because Stiles can’t find words. Derek just keeps saying these things that make Stile’s dick twitch in anticipation even thought he shouldn’t be able to get it up again for at least another few minutes. It’s ridiculous. And sexy. And ridiculous.
When Derek pulls his fingers from Stiles’ mouth, they’re glistening and slick, a thread of spit between them and his lips. He hears a soft groan come from the man between his legs, from somewhere deep in his chest.
“Fuck, you were made for this, weren’t you? You should see yourself. I’ll fuck you in front of a mirror sometime, so you can just watch.” A finger runs around his hole, pressing gently, but not inwards. “Ask me for it. I can see you want it. Ask me to fill you up, just a little bit, because you need it.”
“Please—nnnn— yeah. I want it. Need it. Give it—ah!—give it to me,” he says, panting, trying to focus, trying to give Derek what he wants. It’s apparently good enough because the finger pushes inside, easy and slow. Stiles has done this before, in the shower, once in bed, never really gotten past two fingers, but it always makes him come hard. Derek’s finger feels around a little, pushes in and out, before a second is added, and Stiles makes an embarrassing noise in the back of his throat. His dick is coming to life, half-hard already. Derek’s other hand comes up, and he thinks he’s gonna get a little help in that direction, but he just slides across his belly, gathering his come. It takes Stiles a second to realize what he’s doing, that he’s pushing his own spunk into him, using it to slick him up a little, and the sound he makes at that realization is unholy.
Derek’s eyes are glued to what he can’t see, but he starts talking. “I’m going to show you this sometime. How you open up for me. How you look around my fingers. How you just take it.” Stiles pushes back, barely noticing that all of him has joined the party, so to speak, as Derek adds a third finger, twisting. “I’m the first one who’s been inside of you, aren’t I? No one’s touched you like this. I bet no one’s made you come. I’m the first one who gets to see you come undone. Do you know how hot that is?”
Stiles doesn’t answer. Can’t. He’s too busy trying to get more, deeper. Somewhere in the haze of it, he realizes that it won’t be enough, just his spit and a bit of come, not for Derek to take him like he wants him to.
“Drawer. Side table. Lotion.” It’s the closest he has to lube, what he uses on himself so he doesn’t chafe, and maybe next time, because he’ll make sure there’s a next time, they’ll do it right, do it better, but now, he just needs Derek inside of him.
Derek withdraws his fingers, the emptiness pulling a keening noise from Stiles’ throat, and disappears for a moment. Stiles lays there and tries to breathe normally because this is happening. He’s about to lose his virginity to Derek fucking Hale, of all people, and who would’ve ever thought that would happen? And alright, so he’s jerked off to the idea of Derek’s dick in his mouth, of Derek grinding into him against a wall, of Derek showing up in the locker rooms while he’s showering…yeah, so he’s a pretty frequent star of Stiles’ jerk off fantasies. But he never thought those would become—
Derek’s got a hand on his cock, stroking it slow, with an obscene, wet sound, and the way he’s looking down at Stiles is…well, he’s sure Derek can hear his pulse jack up. He’s got this toothy grin that’s definitely evil in some way, predatory, like he’s the cat that’s got the canary in his teeth. Fuck, he’s not going to make it out of this whole, is he? He’s going to be taken to pieces.
And then he stops thinking because Derek is leaning down, pulling Stile’s knees up to position him just right, then ducks his head down to meet him in an open-mouthed kiss. Stiles’ hands come up in his hair, across his shoulders, just trying to touch him, to distract himself from the fact that Derek’s lining up his cock, pressing the head against his hole, just sort of teasing him with it.
“Fucking do it,” he pants into his mouth. He can feel Derek’s smile and then he blanks, unaware of anything but Derek pushing into him.
“Yeah, that’s it. Just like that. God, you’re so tight.” He leans his forehead against Stiles’, who can feel his brow furrowed. “Fuck, the way you feel—“
“Wait,” he whispers, not sure he’s all there, not sure it’s really happening, needing a moment so his brain can translate what his nerve endings are saying. It’s so much. So raw. So new. And he wants it, wants more of it, wants to feel his teeth chatter it’s so good. But he can’t put that into words, doesn’t know how, so he does the talking with his body. Rolls back into Derek, getting a soft groan, hot against his cheek. He’s sure he whines when Derek pulls out a little, tries to choke off a yell when he slams back in. And then that’s it. That’s all there is to him anymore. Forget the world, he’s got Derek’s skin hot against his, and Derek’s lips stuttering against his throat, and Derek’s cock splitting him open. Just in and in and in, taking him, claiming him, erasing everything else.
Derek shifts a little, changes the angle just slightly, and Stiles is sure he’s making some sort of noise, but he can’t hear himself over the roar in his ears, can’t think, can’t breathe, just comes and comes and comes, the waves of it sending shocks through his body as he tightens around Derek’s dick, each thrust feeling wider, feeling more. Too much.
When his brain pulls itself back together, he sees Derek hovering over him, arms braced on either side of him, lower lip caught between his teeth. Stiles runs his fingernails over his back. Softly at first, then hard. Dragging what’ve got to be welts across his skin. Derek whines, his hips slam in faster. It’s jarring, doesn’t give him time to breathe, but he knows Derek’s coming soon, can feel it in his tempo, can see it in the way the muscles of his arms clench.
Stiles draws a kiss on his cheek, soft and wet, then whispers, “Come. Come for me, Derek. Come inside me.” He makes this harsh, wounded noise and fucks him through it, rhythm totally gone. It’s mindless and feral, the look on his face, and this? This is just for him. Only Stiles gets to see this. Gets to see him fall apart, crumple over him. Collapse onto him. He winces when Derek slips out, but pulls him in close. Kisses his face, tasting sweat and chlorine. Their limbs twist together, and they lie there.
Derek stares at him, any trace of anger or annoyance totally gone, just looks at him like he’s something wonderful. He cups Stiles’ cheek and presses a sweet, searching kiss to his lower lip, then draws away. It’s silent but for their breathing. It’s nice.
Stiles snuggles his face into Derek’s shoulder. “You’re staying,” he says, like it’s more than a hope. Apparently, it is, because the other man pulls him in closer, tucks Stiles’ head in under his chin.
“Go to sleep,” he whispers. And they do.