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Off the Path

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The trail through the woods was faster than taking the curving, dirt road that went around them but no one ever used it. For one thing it went right through private property even if the Hales had never put up fences marking their territory—as if the whole damn forest belonged to them, some said—and for another the trail was dark and overgrown from years of disuse. Also, and probably most importantly, there were the rumors of the giant werewolf that lived in the woods that Stiles couldn’t help but think about when he parked next to the signs that said, “Dangerous! Stay away!” that someone, probably the Argents in their never ending quest to prove themselves crazier than anyone else in this town, had put up.

Of course, as Stiles’ dad had learned, telling Stiles not to do something only made him so desperately curious to do it that it ate his brain until he had to do it. But he wasn’t an idiot, okay? He’d come prepared.

He pulled a flashlight out of his backpack and started walking.

The moon was one night away from being full and up until he was actually on the trail he could see just fine. A little too well actually, enough to notice the total lack of any other animals out here despite how a wooded ecosystem should be teeming with wildlife. He could hear them, or hear something, shifting among the trees, but no matter how fast he turned there wasn’t even a blur of motion as something darted away.

“Probably avoiding nocturnal predators,” Stiles reasoned out loud, watching small wisps of steam from his breath disappear into the beam of his flashlight. “Like everyone keeps telling me to do.” He raised the light up to study the tops of the trees. The canopy hadn’t seemed thick in the daytime but now even with the moon it felt like most of the world was dark. Silvery light was swallowed up by the shadowed trees, leaving him to feel like he was so bright in his red sweatshirt that he was practically glowing.

He couldn’t believe that out of his whole wardrobe he’d finally gone with his red hoodie just because it made his eyes look big and dark and hopefully sexy. Wearing this red hoodie in the dark was like wearing a neon sign that said Come and eat me.

Stiles almost tripped over his own feet at the thought, because God yes please.

He straightened quickly and lowered the flashlight to the forest floor so he wouldn’t trip again.

“Come on now, Stiles,” he whispered to himself, following an echo of a rustle and what could have been the crackle of someone—something—stepping on dried leaves, “this isn’t school. No one here thinks you’re a hopeless dork. Let’s keep it that way.”

He stopped in his tracks at a newer, closer, rustling sound and the frightened scatter of noises behind him. Okay that was small animals running for their lives. That was definitely what that was.

He stayed where he was, glancing carefully back the way he’d come and finding the trail enveloped in shadow. His pulse was loud in his ears, as loud as his quick, rasping breath, but he wasn’t a rabbit. He had forward facing eyes, and that meant predator in the animal kingdom, which was what he was. Totally a predator. Not the kind of weak little prey who’d decide to go alone into the woods at night and then chicken out and run home no matter how safe and practical that idea was. Out here might be danger, but at home was another Friday night with his computer and Universal monster film marathons and porn.

Resolve stiffened, he kept walking, heading blindly, and okay a little stupidly, into the dark, waiting.

For what he had no real idea. He’d done his research but on some things even Google had no answers. What it had told him was that the Argents had a history of serious crazy in their family and that werewolves weren’t as rare as people thought and that despite possibly being loners and weirdos, the Hales had never hurt anyone, not even for venturing onto their property in the middle of the night and stumbling around on a search for cock.

His feet found a fallen branch and he went down hard, landing face first in something mossy and kind of wet. He wiped at his face with his sleeve and rolled over. He could hear more animal scampering but knew it was because he’d scared them with his lack of basic walking skills.

“What the fuck are you doing, Stiles?” he asked himself, staring up at the slivers of the moon and swaying tree branches. It was pretty here. If he got over his pounding heart and the adrenaline coursing through his veins and didn’t completely humiliate himself tonight he might come back. It was nice that the few Hales—the one Hale—who still lived in town hadn’t developed the land and were letting it stay wild like this, though they really should maintain the path through the woods better.

“I could totally sue if my dad would let me and if I weren’t in jail for trespassing. Maybe the Argents didn’t put up those signs out of rampant anti-werewolf bigotry and a desire to scare people into buying more of their guns. Maybe it just means that this is a shitty hiking trail and anyone walking on it is putting their own neck at risk.”

Yeah that was it. Stiles frowned and got to his feet. Now he smelled like the dirt and leaves of the forest floor and not the free sample of Acqua di Gio from the library’s copy of Vogue that he’d rubbed all over himself because cologne had seemed like a good idea.

He probably smelled like sweat too, from all the walking. He’d put on deodorant, taken a shower, because reading about scenting still didn’t mean that he wanted to smell, even if it wouldn’t matter to a wolf.

Now he was pretty sure he just smelled like desperation, as all virgins who were about to graduate from high school and go off to college as fucking virgins must smell like. So he was wearing cologne and a come and eat me sweatshirt and was putting out enough sex pheromones to put the boys’ locker room to shame and, no surprise here, even that wasn’t working. There was no sign of anyone else. No broad-shouldered, buff, brooding, insanely hot and scary Hale staring across a great distance at him. Stiles had once again failed to attract another human being.

“Of course there isn’t anyone else out here,” he sighed morosely, “because anyone with unnaturally good looks and physical strength and the ravenous sexual appetite that werewolves are supposed to have wouldn’t be wandering alone in the woods on a Friday night.”

He swung the flashlight up to see more of the trail and jumped when he saw a man standing a few feet up the trail. By some miracle he landed without falling on his ass, but he inhaled and yelped and then immediately straightened. His backpack slid off one shoulder.

“Jesus!” There was no catching his breath. Derek Hale had come up on him in the dark-ass woods without a flashlight on this shitty trail without making a sound and he did not look happy. Not that Derek Hale ever looked happy. He looked silent and intense and tall and sometimes lonely but he did not look happy.

Maybe it was a werewolf thing, some sort of resolve to always look badass. Or maybe he just was miserable living out here by himself. Stiles got that. He got lonely too. Sometimes it felt that he had no one to talk to, not even Scott anymore now that he and Allison were getting really serious. Maybe he should get a dog. Though that didn’t seem right if he was going off to school, but he was smart and young and had a lot of free time; he could figure something out.

Stiles used the flashlight to illuminate Derek’s body; the still, wary posture, the tight jeans, the equally tight t-shirt, the worn leather jacket, and then clicked the light off when it hit Derek’s eyes and reflected back red.

Red eyes oh fuck. It was true. The Hales were werewolves. Stiles had known that, but knowing it and having it stare at him from a few yards away in the dark woods was a different thing. Like practicing blowjobs on carrots and actually giving someone one, which someday he was going to do. He was going to blow the shit out of some jobs as soon as someone would let him.

He left his mouth open so he could try to breathe normally and then shivered as it occurred to him that he’d turned off his flashlight and now had only the shifting moonlight to see by but that Derek Hale could probably see everything.

Stiles lifted his chin and then froze, though it wasn’t like Derek said anything. Derek didn’t do anything but stare at him in that borderline creepy way of his that might have been what eyefucking felt like if Stiles had any personal experience with eyefucking to tell. He certainly didn’t object to Stiles putting his chin up in a nonverbal cue that said he wanted to fight.

Except Stiles didn’t want to fight, so after a second he inched his chin down. The air seemed to move again when he did.

“Hey, there Big Guy,” he tried, then realized he sounded like he was talking to a stray dog. Derek Hale didn’t react. Stiles could still see a vague tint of red in his eyes. He was pretty sure Derek hadn’t even blinked, which was classic alpha male behavior. He swallowed and nodded. “You aren’t going to say anything are you? Of course you aren’t,” he answered his own question. “Either you’re dominating the conversation by choosing when to talk or you can’t.” Maybe Derek had big fangs all the time. None of the werewolf literature had even mentioned them talking, or not talking for that matter, but that was beside the point. Stiles was dealing the supernatural, anything was possible.

“That’s like a thing for you, I bet. Dominating, uh, stuff. People.” If Derek could see in the dark then he could see Stiles flushing and breathing hard. He might even hear Stiles’ labored breathing, the way he had to hear the frantic pounding of Stiles’ heart. Which… which Stiles couldn’t even process right now but which made his heart beat even faster. “But if it isn’t you should really work on your people skills because looming silently and watching someone all the time, someone like me, is kind of creepy.”

His pulse said he was a liar and that having someone potentially eyefuck him whenever he ran across him in town was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him. He put his chin back up. He was the worst at getting laid ever.

“Or the complete opposite of creepy?” Which… not his smoothest recovery, but Stiles shook his head. He let the backpack slide down his other arm until he had the strap in one hand. He thought about what was inside and cleared his throat.

“Nice night,” he offered hopefully. He wasn’t surprised at the answering silence this time, though Derek hadn’t left or told him to get lost, so he was as in as he was going to get. “Full moon tomorrow and all. You can, uh, wolf out or whatever you do. So what’s that like anyway? Do you eat your own poop when you’re a wolf or… that is a terrible question isn’t it? We can get back to that later.”

He moved on.

“I used to see you around town when I was little. We were only a few years apart in school and everything. You were little then too. Now you’re bigger. You’re very big. That makes me sound like some kind of size queen but really you can’t go by porn. It’s all a matter of personal preference and as soon as I get some experience I am going to have more of a preference than just looming and slightly scary and big.”

Derek made a sound. Stiles didn’t want to identify it as a growl, but it was a lot like a growl. It was low and it made him shake and feel weak, like he should be scampering off into the woods away from any and all hungry wolves.

His voice cracked. “By which I mean, you look like really good,” he gestured, “with the shoulders and everything and the ab muscles I think you’re hiding under all your shrunken t-shirts. Dude, who does your laundry? Because they are totally washing on Hot instead of Cold.”

He had to fight not step back at the second growl, or fall to his knees. Maybe he should try again to find some nice, safe human.

Because that had worked out well for him so far. Everyone he knew, male or female, avoided him so much he was starting to think he had some kind of invisible Hands off! Private Property! signs around him. If there was something about him warning people off, it was good to be around the one creature who wouldn’t be afraid of things like that.

“Wolves are laden with sexual imagery in a lot of Western culture,” it spilled out of him, a stream of facts that normally turned people off. But he couldn’t stop. “In addition to being compelling and charismatic and attractive, which I can vouch for, they are often symbols of power and a ravenous, even rapacious, hunger that most people equate with sexual appetite, which, personally, I’d love to vouch for. I want to vouch for that in the loudest voice possible, to anyone that will listen, okay? Just so it’s clear why I’m out here in case it wasn’t totally obvious in whatever you can smell from me.”

He wanted it so bad he couldn’t sleep and spent his nights researching werewolf facts like that and obsessing just a little on the sexy werewolf roaming these woods and now here he was, perspiring and hot in his red sweatshirt and trying to think of anything that might bring Derek a little closer.

On the heels of that thought, he eased his head back so his hood would fall to his neck and looked as wide-eyed as he could manage. Pretending to be prey wasn’t as hard as it should have been. He would swear that Derek’s eyes were full on red now.

Stiles’ mouth was still open. He didn’t have wolf hearing and even he could hear how desperate and fast his breathing was getting. He reached up and tugged at the zipper to his hoodie, then pulled it down. It would have been in one hopefully seductive motion, but the zipper caught in his shirt near the bottom and wouldn’t budge.

“Damn, wait, hold on.” He bent to his head to fight with it. This wasn’t going to work if he couldn’t get naked. “You can get naked too,” he called out in an unsteady voice as his damp, shaking hands fumbled with the zipper, and no he did not sound smooth or seductive and this was not going to work. He freed the zipper with a grunt and raised his head.

“If you want,” he said faintly as his body adjusted to so much Derek Hale so close to him. Derek was standing next to him, over him. Looming.

“Shit that was fast,” Stiles heard himself, but his mouth had to do something while his brain was working out speeds and distance, doing weird werewolf word problems. “Are you that fast all the time or is this because of the moon?” He looked away from the fierce expression on Derek’s handsome face and peered first at Derek’s chest and then around his side. “No tail. No fur. Just dat ass.” He mimed smacking it and then yanked his hands down when Derek’s eyes narrowed. “’Stop pretending you’re tapping that ass, Stiles.’ Nonverbal cues. I can go with those.”

For a second Derek’s eyebrows drew together. It didn’t seem like an angry frown. It was more like a frown of confusion or frustration. People frowned like that around Stiles a lot.

“I’m very smart,” Stiles explained, since it was best to get that out of the way. “But I’ve got other qualities too. I’ve got soft skin because I use this really good bodywash from Target and I loofah. And I work out. Mostly just enough to stay on the team even if I am always on the bench.” He thought about it. “A drunk girl once told me I had nice eyes. And I like to think my mouth is pretty.”

He licked his lips for emphasis. He’d once asked Danny if his mouth was pretty and Danny had called him a dumbass.

Derek wasn’t calling him anything, but oh God, was he looking at Stiles’ mouth?

“So it’s uh, all yours if you want it,” Stiles finished with the last of his desperate, panting, virgin bravado and waited. Derek only continued to stare at him with hot, red eyes. Stiles could see Derek’s chest moving as he breathed in and wondered what it would take to make Derek breathe hard. “Or not and you can just continue to stare sourly at me for encroaching on your territory and I can go back home and die of no sex.”

He took one slow, reluctant step back and Derek lowered his head. Stiles had no idea what that particular nonverbal cue meant, but it felt like being told to stay. He stayed.

“Maybe you’re wondering what kind of self-proclaimed smart person shows up in the woods and offers his body up to a stalker werewolf without any kind of protection.” Stiles nodded in quick understanding and shook his backpack. “What did you think was in here? Treats for grandma? Ha. No. In here I’ve got a sterling silver knife from my kitchen….”

Derek tilted his head and let out a whuff of breath, almost a laugh. Oh right. “Which I probably shouldn’t have told you about,” Stiles agreed, though it was nice to see Derek expressing a real emotion even if it was at his expense.

“I can get to it easily?” he tried to correct his mistake and Derek whuffed at him again, like he knew when Stiles was lying. “Okay, I can get to it once I push past the condoms and bottles of lubricant I picked up in town just in case. I wasn’t sure about sizes or flavors, so I kind of got everything, including a dental dam, because they threw it in for free and I like to think of myself as flexible.”

The trick was getting other people to think of him as flexible, or at all, because there were seriously a lot of positions he wanted to try.

He looked up and met Derek Hale’s gaze. “I’d really like to not be a virgin.” He took a deep breath and stepped forward until he was so close it was either put his hands on Derek’s chest to steady himself or lose his balance and fall.

Hot, he thought instantly in distracted fascination. Derek was hot, like temperature of the sun hot, like producing so much heat it was no wonder he could wear thin t-shirts and never get cold. Stiles glanced down and saw his own hands wandering over that chest like he owned it. Under his palms he could feel Derek’s shaky breathing and how his chest was heaving.

He bit his bottom lip and looked back at Derek’s face. “Are you scared?” he wondered quietly while Derek’s gaze stayed riveted to his now-swollen lip. “That’s awesome. You’re scared of me.”

Derek’s growl was loud and rough and all the warning Stiles got before Derek grabbed a handful of Stiles’ sweatshirt and hauled him up. Stiles ended up practically on his toes and leaning forward, and then they were touching in right, wrong, places and he felt that growl slide down his spine and settle in his balls. He couldn’t help himself.

“Are you going to eat me? Because I want that to happen.” It came out of his mouth, out loud, and his head went back, making it worse, because he wasn’t pretending to be prey anymore. Derek’s breath was on his neck and Stiles could feel it over his throbbing pulse and he gasped out something to the effect, “Fuck let this happen, Derek,” and reached out with blind desperation and pulled down until Derek’s mouth was on his. He pulled until Derek’s hands were under his hoodie and he was tripping backwards over leaves or logs or branches or whatever the fuck was on the ground until he bumped into a tree and had nowhere else to go.

Derek’s hands were hot too, burning under his t-shirt before Stiles could think to suggest some skin on skin contact. Fast, Derek moved fast, faster than maybe even Stiles could think and that was such a turn on.

The wolf was growling, maybe because Stiles had his hands wrapped up tight in Derek’s hair to keep their mouths together or maybe because Stiles kept thrusting his hips forward. That ended when Derek put a hand to his hip and shoved him back hard against the tree and held him still with what was probably no effort at all.

Derek’s mouth was on him, was all over him, the second Stiles pulled his hands from Derek’s hair so he could tear Derek’s leather jacket off him. He wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to do if he couldn’t press his dick against Derek, and stripping off Derek’s clothes seemed reasonable. Derek meanwhile seemed intent on scraping his teeth over the skin just under Stiles’ ear, and then his shoulder, and then just over his collarbone. Sometimes he stopped long enough to suck at the skin, and Stiles didn’t really know what to do with that except throw his head back against the tree and squeeze his eyes closed.

He still couldn’t get his dick against anything, he couldn’t even tell if Derek was hard, but Derek’s hands were digging into his hips and his teeth were sharp and if there weren’t bruises tomorrow, Stiles was going to demand a do over.

“Is this sex or making out?” He struggled for the words, whining just a little when every minute shift of his hips was denied. “Any other time you can slide kisses over my skin all day and all night if you want, Derek, but I’m prime virgin meat here.”

He didn’t even realize that he was pushing on Derek’s shoulders until Derek moved down. He pulled up Stiles’ shirt and then Stiles felt his tongue, felt him inhale, a second before Derek’s knees hit the ground. Then Derek was inhaling and exhaling over the Stiles’ crotch. Over Stiles’ dick. Over the stretched denim over Stiles’ hard dick. Derek was breathing on his dick, and licking, licking dryly over his jeans and whining, just a little.

“You want what I want,” Stiles marveled, leaving his eyes open wide because he wasn’t missing anything. “Okay this is happening.” He rolled forward, smashing his crotch into Derek’s face a little, but Derek didn’t complain, not outside of a painful grip on Stiles’ legs anyway, which was nothing because Derek wanted to suck his dick. Or at least lick it.

He growled, snapping Stiles out of his thoughts of Derek scenting his cock. He dropped a hand, not any smoother with this zipper this time around. Not that it mattered, the second the zipper was down Derek was yanking Stiles’ jeans down and doing something to his underwear that made it rip.

Stiles grabbed at Derek’s hair and held it tight. Derek was all growls and mouth and heat, right next to his dick, on his skin. Stiles felt him bury his nose against his thigh, felt him taking his time smelling sweat or arousal or his laundry detergent or whatever he was smelling down there, and his knees went weak.

He pushed at Derek’s head, because he was in charge here, he was totally in control here, and then suddenly he wasn’t because Derek had hauled him down and spread him out on his back so he could crawl over him.

Dried leaves were scratchy, Stiles thought vaguely as they pressed into his back, and then looked up in a hopefully not too dazed away at Derek. Derek was staring down at him with an expression on his face that was so far beyond ravenous and rapacious that Stiles couldn’t think of a word for it and his SAT score had been insane.

“That is some serious lupine eyefucking.” Someday Stiles was going to be able to stop his mouth from messing things up. Derek, who was already not moving, continued to not move.

Stiles propped himself up on his elbows and panted at him. “Is there going to be actual fucking now though? Finally?” He rolled his eyes and then flopped back down when Derek narrowed his eyes at him. Stile waved at his dick without looking, because it was bad enough being hard with that much wolf hotness hovering over him, he didn’t need to see Derek’s open mouth next to his neglected cock too.

Or maybe he did. Derek breathed out and Stiles moaned and rocked up. “Actual fucking would be good too. Any time now.” He ran a hand down over his chest because even his nipples ached and Derek hadn’t even touched them, and Derek slid up and had Stiles’ hands pressed to the ground in a move too fast for Stiles to see.

Derek moved over Stiles too, settling between his legs like he belonged there and he’d been invited to, because oh right he did and he had. He was heavy and big and Stiles couldn’t even think of how someone in porn might react or what he should because he couldn’t do anything except talk.

He licked his lips and stared up, watching the big scary predator think about fucking him.

“I didn’t know you could loom horizontally,” Stiles remarked hoarsely, and didn’t even think to move when Derek let go of his hands so he could push Stiles’ legs up. It was both embarrassing and hot. Stiles’ hoodie was wide open, his shirt was up to his throat, his pants were gone. He didn’t even know what happened to his underwear, and he was so hard that he could smell the salty arousal in the air. He wondered vaguely what prolonged exposure to that smell might do to Derek and thought wistfully how he might never find out.

Then Derek’s breath was damp and warm over Stiles’ leaking cock and he pushed the thought away.

He sucked in air and then nearly shrieked when Derek licked the head of his cock and then stopped to nose at his hip. His hands curved down under Stiles’ ass.

“God. You just... God. I’m going to….” Stiles’ palm brushed over dirt and leaves and carried the dirt to Derek’s hair. He wrapped his fingers through the soft fur and yanked Derek’s head up. He only thought about that being a stupid move when he glimpsed red, hungry eyes and sharp, sharp teeth. He softened his voice with effort but didn’t let go of the wild animal in his hand. “You can scent-mark me later. Sex now.”

It made sense, like pieced together bits of an internet search, and yet Stiles knew he’d done something wrong when Derek smiled at him, feral and dangerous, like Stiles had just agreed to something without reading the fine print.

Derek shifted up, reaching out. The backpack wasn’t far away. Stiles shivered.

“Can werewolves even get diseases?” He wondered absently, knowing his brain would work out the answer without his permission. “Wait.”

The weird thing was Derek stopped, instantly. He looked at Stiles and for a second Stiles thought he wasn’t even breathing. Stiles shook his head, because this wasn’t about condoms. “I want the whole cherry popping experience,” he murmured and realized that Derek didn’t understand.

He grabbed one of Derek’s hands and put it back on his stomach. “Derek.” He put his hand on Derek’s arm, then his shoulder, then his chest. He took a deep breath before he let his hand fall lower. “Derek.” He was repeating himself, but he hadn’t expected that Derek would go still and let Stiles cup his dick. Through his jeans, but it totally counted.

“Derek,” Stiles said again, because he remembered reading somewhere that that was how you trained a puppy to its name, you said it over and over again while you touched it, so it knew who it was and that it belonged to you.

Derek had turned his face away but Stiles could see his clenched jaw. Obviously he wasn’t a puppy and he wasn’t Stiles’. Stiles said his name again anyway, stroking over the cock he couldn’t see and watching Derek shudder. He put his hand up and Derek turned into it, and oh fuck, teeth at his palm, Derek’s tongue licking over his skin.

Stiles nodded. “Fuck me now, okay?” He slid his knees up like the guys on Xtube and then just tried to not freak out or say anything stupid when Derek fucking opened his pants and leaned over him and Stiles could feel his cock. He was wrong; he was totally a size queen. This was awesome.

Derek ripped open a condom packet with his teeth. The lubricant seemed like an afterthought. It poured out, cold and slippery, over Stiles’ skin and even though he jumped, Stiles just went with it, arching up so Derek could finger him open.

“Derek.” It was his new favorite word, even when he was forcing it out between his teeth as his body relaxed around the finger, fingers, inside him. “Derek would look good on a collar tag,” he pushed out in a rush and then gasped out something a lot less articulate when Derek angled his fingers in deeper and then just right.

“Oh God.” He wanted to roll over and fuck the ground, or just roll over so Derek could fuck him now. He rocked up into Derek’s fingers and brought his hand up to his neck, to the stinging bruises from Derek’s mouth. He pushed down on them and Derek whined, like it was killing him.

He shifted up, pulling his fingers out in way that made them both cry out and then he was pinning Stiles’ down and pushing inside of him.

Stiles must have been moving to get held down like that, but he couldn’t remember it. He wasn’t squirming now, he was breathless and still and momentarily empty of words. He couldn’t think again until Derek was all the way in and shuddering over him and then he thought, with triumph, that he was full of cock.

His hands worked under Derek’s shirt so he could pull Derek down by his shoulders. There was a dick in his ass and heavy breathing under his ear and Derek’s mouth open over all that raw, bruised skin.

He didn’t seem to mind Stiles running his hands down his back, so Stiles did that for a while, until Derek let out another small whine. Stiles nodded.

“Nothing fancy, just something with your name and my home address so that people will know who to bring you to if you run off.” He didn’t even know what he was saying, but Derek moved as he said it, out and then back into him. “This is fucking,” Stiles observed, like the dumbass Danny had thought he was and put his head back into the dirt when Derek’s teeth pressed into his shoulder.

“This is really happening.” Derek was fucking him slow, too slow, the aching build from his fingers getting worse, better, awesome. “Why did I wait this long?” Stiles demanded, grabbing a handful of Derek’s ass. Derek bit down harder. Stiles took that his cue to keep on doing that, so he did. “When I can do this again?”

“With who?” Stiles half-asked, garbling the words as Derek pressed down and suddenly everything felt sharper, more raw. “Who can I get to do this to me again?” Stiles had to do this again, a lot.

Derek didn’t seem to agree. He pulled back so abruptly that Stiles wasn’t prepared for the shock of cold air or the distance.

“I’m sorry?” He was used to apologizing, even when he didn’t know why. He said it before he looked up and then again when he caught Derek trying not look at him. “I’m sorry. I… that wasn’t what I meant.” He swallowed, he was already down on the ground, mostly naked with his throat bared, what more did the guy want? “I want you. Please.”

He wasn’t sure if he looked pleading or pouty or delectable—he hoped delectable—but whichever it was, Derek slid back down over him, and this time Stiles wrapped his legs around him to keep him there. Derek inhaled against his chest and then lifted Stiles’ hips so he was fucking into him at an angle that made Stiles spread his arms out and grab at anything he could hold onto.

Mostly that was Derek, who grunted in a satisfied way that made Stiles’ brain click back on enough for him to get it.

“Okay boy,” Stiles agreed and felt the pressure of another bite at the side of his throat. He didn’t even care about the teeth marks. He was going to love the teeth marks as long as he could hide them from his dad. He was going to get Derek a collar and Derek was going to suck marks into his skin all night.

He was groaning, not as loud as the rough sounds Derek was making, but loud enough to make him feel even hotter and slightly more desperate.

“I need to come.” He wanted to push up but Derek had his body, Derek the werewolf had his body, and Stiles was letting him have it, so he moaned louder and let his mouth say every stupid thing he could think of because those stupid things made Derek claw at him and bite and press in like he wanted all of Stiles, even the dumb things.

“You aren't really one for the talking much, huh? That’s okay, your cock can do the talking.” He’d said cock out loud. He’d burn with embarrassment if he weren’t already on fire. He hated his brain, but he also loved his brain, because his brain had led him here and it had made him bring lube and now it was starting to black out, to shut off. He had Derek whimpering and feverishly licking at his skin and he was crying out and he could barely breathe he felt so full. He was going explode with the hurty good feels.

“Derek. Yes. Yeah. Yes.” Words were gone. Derek kept on pounding into him hard and steady until Stiles gasped out nothing at all. Derek put a big, hot hand on his cock and Stiles came so hard he thought he was dying before Derek could even try to jack him.

He maybe howled. He wasn’t really sure. His mind only came back online later, after Derek had pulled out of him and stroked himself until he’d come all over Stiles’ chest.

Including his shirt and his hoodie, which kind of sucked while also being the hottest thing ever.

“You’re lucky I know how to get semen stains out of cotton,” Stiles commented in a slurred voice and blinked and opened his eyes wide because Derek was looking at him like he was dinner.

“You can’t eat me now, Hannibal Lector, it’d be rude,” Stiles croaked at him and nearly had a heart attack when Derek leaned over him and started to delicately lick at the mess on his chest. “First wolf bukkake and now this,” Stiles only said it because he had a feeling that tomorrow he’d find this embarrassing. Or gross. Or too hot for words.

He’d been watching the wrong kind of porn and researching the wrong things. Derek was breathing hard, snuffling almost as he chose different places to sniff and then clean with his tongue. Stiles didn’t know whose come he was swallowing, and to be honest, he didn’t care.

He put his head back and let his thoughts work out theories on the werewolf immune system for a while, until Derek was apparently done with the tongue bath. He was also staring again. Stiles stared back. “What?”

“You have big eyes,” Derek murmured. He had a husky voice, like he didn’t use it much. Stiles decided that was because Derek had no one to talk to what with most everyone in town afraid of him and then he blinked, because oh shit, Derek was talking now.

Derek watched him for another second and then licked at the corner of Stiles’ mouth. His breath smelled like come. It tasted like it too when Stiles parted his lips. “I like your mouth,” Derek added, then seemed to reconsider. “Though sometimes you need to shut up.”

“You can talk.” Stiles felt like an idiot. Derek huffed at him in what was probably dry wolf amusement and went back to sniffing and licking his way over Stiles’ body. Stiles was starting to feel the cold again, at least everywhere where Derek wasn’t, but couldn’t think of a single thing to say while Derek was rubbing his cheek against his thigh. He had stubble. It felt good. It was also going to leave a mark.

Finally Derek let out a breath and moved away from him. He was on his feet in seconds. Stiles tried to move and was suddenly sore and chafed in odd places. He had trouble making his legs feel like anything but jelly.

Derek hauled him to his feet before Stiles could explain, with an attempt at dignity, that Derek had fucked the walks out of him, and propped him against a tree. He handed Stiles his jeans though thankfully he didn’t dress him, or point out that Stiles seemed to have lost his shoes at some point and his underwear was in pieces.

Derek zipped himself up and put his leather jacket back on and began brushing the leaves off Stiles with brusque, impatient hands.

“I’ve got it!” Stiles snapped at him and he didn’t know why he’d wanted Derek Hale to feel and express human emotions because Derek snorted and rolled his eyes at him, clearly aware that Stiles was a bit wobbly at the moment. From the sex. The awesome sex he’d just had.

“I just had awesome sex,” Stiles informed him in amazement, just getting it, and Derek actually ducked his head. If it was shyness Stiles couldn’t handle it right now. It was too much. Adorable, scary, sexy werewolves was too much. “We just had awesome sex,” he corrected himself. “I have the best ideas ever no matter what anyone else tells you.”

“It’s dangerous to walk alone in these woods.” And proposition strangers. Derek narrowed his eyes in warning, which was how Stiles knew what he really meant.

“Whatever.” He waved it off and pulled his pants on. When he looked up Derek looked like he usually did, distant and pissed and frightening. Stiles couldn’t help it that his heart did a strong thumping thing against his ribs.

Derek pointed at him. “It’s dangerous for a human alone. You shouldn’t be here.”

Stiles’ heart went from thumping madly to ceasing to beat. Well, it beat, but only to keep him alive and for no other reason.

“Oh.” He was getting dumped already. That shouldn’t surprise him. He should just be grateful he’d had sex at all. He’d wanted a roll in the leaves. He really shouldn’t have expected more from an animal that had never been properly domesticated.

And yeah, he said that out loud and only realized it when Derek grabbed a handful of his hoodie and hauled him up until their faces were almost touching.

“From now on only come here when I'm with you.” Derek managed to growl and enunciate at the same time. He gave Stiles a little shake and then released him.

Stiles stumbled and put a hand to his chest. He lifted his chin without much thought.

“What could happen that’s so dangerous? Also you have shitty people skills.”

He didn’t see Derek move. One second Stiles was glaring at him and the next he was spun around with his face to a tree and Derek pressed up behind him. He didn’t bite Stiles because he didn’t have to. Stiles got it. Derek would worry about him and Derek worried meant Stiles being manhandled. It was never going to make him obey. He wondered if Derek knew that.

He might not; his people skills really were terrible. He could barely make a sentence. And Stiles had thought he was a social misfit with a lot of problems.

He considered for half a second and then was grateful that he was young and flexible. He bowed his head so Derek’s breath could slip down the back of his neck and down his sweatshirt.

“Okay,” he agreed, “but I have to be home by ten, I have a curfew.”

Derek froze. For several long seconds he didn’t move or speak. Then his hands curled around Stiles’ wrists so he could put Stiles’ hands to the tree.

“This bark is rough,” Stiles complained without trying to get away and was close enough to hear the change in Derek’s breathing, the shocked little hitch and then the heavy, greedy panting as he consumed Stiles’ scent.

Stiles wriggled against him, because he didn’t have much time here. “Seriously,” he reminded him, “Curfew. Dad with a badge and a gun, insisting I be home soon. At least until I go off to school and can do what I want. So let’s do this and if you want you could, uh,” Derek rubbed his nose behind his ear, “come home with me after.” Stiles wasn’t an idiot; his dad was going to freak out. In fact he couldn’t even begin to think about his dad’s reaction right now. But Derek held him tighter and huffed a little and Stiles decided he could figure something out.

“I found him in the woods, off the path, and he followed me home,” he sounded it out as Derek nibbled his throat and scent-marked the shit out of his clothes, like Stiles was his property and he’d been dying to mark his territory. Which… actually could be true. Which would be awesome. It would have sucked to have been the only one pining.

He moaned a little as Derek pulled them flush together and then slid his hand between Stiles’ legs and opened his mouth to inhale against Stiles’ skin.

Stiles stopped thinking about his dad.

Anyway, he was pretty sure his dad would tell him he couldn’t bring a dangerous werewolf home and keep it, even if he promised to feed him and care for him and give him plenty of exercise. But his dad would also know that telling Stiles not to do something was the best way to ensure he did it.

Derek might try that too. But he’d learn.

“Are you being quiet to dominate me again?” Stiles demanded hoarsely, already rubbing himself into Derek’s palm. He could pretend it wasn’t working, or that it wasn’t so hot, though it was stupid to be defiant when his scent said what he wanted. But that was him. Stupid and oh yeah, also a fricking genius, because he turned suddenly and didn’t even have to push Derek down this time.

He put out a scent, signs, nonverbal cues, and then followed them up with words as the giant, dangerous werewolf in front of him whimpered and got on his knees.

“Derek,” he said, already dragging his fingers through Derek’s hair to pull him closer, “come and eat me.”