Derek swallows, watching Stiles mull over the paperwork. “Are you sure about this?”
“Absolutely,” Stiles says, licking his lips. He signs with a flourish and pushes the contract back at Derek.
Derek knows every word of the contract by heart, but his heart stutters anyways when a sentence jumps out at him. The client acknowledges that any bond created during the heat session is temporary.
He picks up the contract, hesitating. It’s not an official one, just a copy of the ones Derek uses at the clinic with actual clients seeking heat relief. “It doesn’t have to be me,” Derek says. “We could go through official channels, I know my clinic is supported by your health insurance from the station, and this week actually isn’t booked up, like Parrish is free—”
The thought of Parrish knotting Stiles makes Derek’s gut recoil, but he wants— he wants Stiles to have options. And Jordan Parrish is definitely the more experienced alpha, the best one at the small heat clinic in fact.
Derek’s only been working here a few months while he goes through med school and still figuring out what he wants to focus on, but he likes it so far. Haven’s Planned Heat Clinic offers safe heatrooms for omegas who want to go it alone, with a full array of toys and medical staff on hand, and professional alpha nurses who are available for any type of help the omegas might request.
There are a lot of necessary paperwork and pre-heat things to do before requesting a partner; walk-in clients with no where else to go are only allowed private heatrooms and medical attention, in order to request an alpha one must put in their paperwork at least two weeks in advance and attend a pre-heat meeting with the alpha of their choice.
It’s all very procedural and professional, and Derek likes it, likes working here,likes that Haven’s is a good alternative for unbonded omegas who don’t want the burden of finding a heat partner, likes being helpful to the clients, omegas who needed a safe place to go through their heat,
“I don’t want Parrish,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “He smells like feet.”
“What about Haigh, or Graeme?”
“Look, if you don’t want to do it, just tell me, please. We’ve been friends for years; I know that’s your I’m uncomfortable face, and you’re sitting on something you don’t want to tell me, just let me know,” Stiles says.
“I just don’t know why you don’t want to go through the clinic,” Derek mumbles.
“Because I’m still under my dad’s health insurance information, and boy, that would be embarrassing. He’d know that I requested a— well, yeah. Anyways, it doesn’t matter, since I can’t exactly request you as an alpha,” Stiles says. “Believe me, I asked.”
Derek blushes. “I don’t have enough training yet. I’m qualified for um... assistance with toys, and being in the room so my pheromones can help, but I need to clock in more hours before I can actually… wait, you asked?”
“Yeah. I mean, this isn’t about me coming to you because you work at Haven’s, although that’s probably a bonus, since you know all the do’s and don’ts and you’re like, medically qualified to help if anything goes wrong, but I’d ask even if you had any other job, dude.”
“I want you, Derek.” Stiles says it simply, without any preamble or hesitation, and for a good moment Derek lets himself believe that it means more, more than what Stiles is asking, to just see him through his heat.
Stiles sighs, hands gesturing wildly as he talks. “I’m twenty-one, I’ve never had a partnered heat, I’m tired of fucking myself with toys and waking up in a puddle of my slick during my heat, I hate feeling sticky and alone and I just want to get knotted, okay?”
Derek nods, throat dry.
“You’re the only unbonded alpha I know that I can trust with this, you know. You’re my friend, and I know you’ll take care of me. Please?”
It’s the slight wobble of Stiles’ lips that does it, that stops Derek from insisting that Stiles go to the clinic, that Derek can’t do this, because it would be too much, but he knows Stiles, and Stiles is right. Derek wants to take care of him.
“Of course,” Derek says softly. “Anything I can do to help.”
Stiles grins and stands up, clapping Derek on the shoulder. “Thanks, dude. I’ll see you later, I’ve got to run to class.”
“Don’t forget your copy of the contract,” Derek says, nudging the papers forward.
Stiles grabs them off the desk and stuffs them in his backpack, shaking his head in amusement. “Still have no idea why we both signed these, I mean it’s just between me and you, as friends, right?”
“Uh, yeah, it’s just procedure. I mean. It’s good for practice. In case, like, the client and the alpha—”
“Aw, Derek, don’t worry, I’m not going to fall in love with you,” Stiles chuckles. “It’s just a heat.”
Derek laughs weakly back at him and waves as Stiles leaves.
Derek met Stiles on a warm sunny day when he had to take the stairs up to his apartment, as the elevator seemed to be stuck. As he made it to the fifth floor, he saw the elevator doors open, and a huge number of boxes wobbled forward, then loud cursing as the doors started to close.
Derek walked over and reached inside the elevator to hold the “door open” button, and behind the boxes popped up a pair of bright brown eyes. “Oh my God, dude, you are amazing. Keep doing that.”
This is how Derek will always remember meeting Stiles for the first time, how Stiles’ subsequent groan when Derek offered to help with the boxes gave him an immediate boner, and how he had to hide said boner behind the box.
There’s been two years of being neighbors, of listening to Scott and Stiles’ endlessly loud videogame battles and drunken karaoke, of the two of them dragging Derek into their social circle, Derek actually doing college things for once, ridiculous things, instead of hiding away in his apartment and studying all the time. Endless nights of Stiles falling asleep on his couch because he wanted Scott to have the apartment to himself so he could woo Kira, Stiles insisting on bringing Derek home with him for Thanksgiving because Derek would have just stayed over the break alone, so many times, ample opportunities for Derek to have voiced what was slowly building inside of him, how he felt.
It had gotten to the point where it was normal for them to leave their windows open, for them to travel between the two apartments via the fire escape, and Derek’s heart would swell up with fondness when he’d get home from class and find Stiles on his couch, humming happily. It felt right, to have his scent permeating all of Derek’s apartment, like Stiles belonged there.
Derek knew Stiles had a lot of opinions about bonding in general— he dated sporadically, a beta here, other omegas, and an alpha, once (Stiles ranted for three hours about how offended he was after their first date when the guy had offered to take care of Stiles’ heat the next month. Leering, the guy was more like). Stiles complained about his heats, all the time, always fuck biology this and I don’t need no alpha that. It was always very clear that Stiles had it handled; that he didn’t want an alpha, ever.
So it’s unlikely that’s changed— just this whole talk about knotting and heats— it’s just a physical thing, right? Stiles just wants heat relief, like any other client. No bond, no alpha, no relationship with Derek.
It really shouldn’t be a problem, except that Derek’s been in love with Stiles for a long, long time.
Stiles said his heat won’t start till Saturday mid-afternoon at the latest, but Derek cleans his apartment diligently, making sure it’s ready by Thursday at least. He stocks his kitchen with all of Stiles’ favorite snacks, cooks meals in advance, ready to be heated at a moment’s notice. He’s got Stiles’ lasagna, potato chips he knows Stiles will definitely eat with the lasagna, a whole bag of baby tangerines because that’s Stiles’ favorite fruit, and an entire case of the Glacier Freeze flavor of Gatorade (“Blue flavor, Derek, blue flavor is the BEST, no one actually calls that stuff by its name, you know?”).
Derek hesitates when he’s out purchasing extra sheets, looking at a display of silk sheets, knowing they’ll probably be ruined by the heat’s end, but he remembers that time he and Stiles were at the department store looking for curtains for Stiles’ apartment, and Stiles had ran his hands down the display bed’s silk sheets, and moaned.
Derek buys three sets of silk sheets.
It’s Friday night when Stiles opens Derek’s window, climbing in from the fire escape. He’s rubbing at his eyes and yawning, wearing his “Friday chill wear” already— a loose t-shirt and gray sweatpants.
Derek looks up from where he’s pulling a tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. “Stiles? Are you feeling okay? Did your heat come early?”
“Wha? Oh, yeah, that. No, just wanted to hang out. It’s Friday, we always do Leverage on Fridays.” Stiles ambles towards the kitchen. “Aw, babe, you made me cookies?” The overly saccharine-sweet voice reminds Derek that this is all a joke to Stiles, just a silly thing between friends. It doesn’t mean anything; it’s not— it’s not Derek providing for his omega, or anything. It’s just…
Derek scowls. “I like chocolate chip, okay. They’re not for you.” He swats away Stiles’ eager hand, reaching out for the tray. “And they’re hot. Let them cool first, at least.”
Stiles rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling fondly as he does it. He opens the fridge, helping himself to the sandwich Derek had made earlier for Stiles.
“Dude, you always make too much food for yourself. This is like, the tenth time you’ve made this ridiculously awesome two foot sub, you know you only can eat half that.” Stiles bites into the sub, sighing happily around the mouthful of grilled chicken, pesto, heirloom tomatoes, and fresh mozzarella.
Derek can’t help the pleased feeling that courses through him as he watches Stiles eat, and then falters, lost in thought as he follows him to the living room. Tenth time? Derek’s pretty sure this is the first, right? That he’s made food specifically for Stiles to eat— okay, maybe Stiles is right, Derek had made the sandwich the first time because the bakery had this two-foot sub special, and the basil-garlic bread had sounded heavenly, and he ended up sharing with Stiles, and Stiles loved finding the sub in the fridge when he came over the next week, too, so it’s not a huge thing, that even after the bakery started selling one-foot subs, that Derek would continue to make the ridiculously big sandwich so Stiles wouldn’t be hungry if he was ever in Derek’s apartment.
Derek’s jolted out of his thoughts when Stiles asks— for the second time, it seems— “Hey, which episode were you feeling?”
“Uh— what are you in the mood for? We’re not in any specific season rewatch or anything, so I’m game for whatever.”
Stiles tilts his head, considering. “Man, I had a long day, so not feeling anything super emotional, or super action-y…”
“Perfect,” Stiles declares, flopping on the couch.
Derek sits down next to him, bringing up the episode on Netflix, hyper-aware of Stiles’ body next to him. It shouldn’t be any different from the many times they’ve hung out on this couch and watched TV together, but maybe it’s Stiles’ scent, sweet and cloying, on the precipice of unfolding into that rich, inviting smell, unforgivingly tantalizing, and almost present.
Derek tries to focus on the episode, he’s seen it many times before, but it’s always fun to see the crew try and serve justice. This episode is one of Stiles’ favorites, he loves the cheesy nods to Men In Black, loves that the con involves aliens. But every time Stiles laughs next to him, the movement draws him closer to Derek, until they’re shoulder to shoulder. Maybe Derek should move his arms back, that way Stiles could have more room— fuck! He didn’t mean— oh now he feels like a teenager trying to get his arm around his date, but Derek just wanted—
He leaves his arm on the back of the couch, hoping his nervousness isn’t that noticeable. Luckily Stiles is distracted now by Eliot fighting a bunch of men, letting out a low whistle. “Damn, he’s the hottest alpha on this show. I bet his knot is huge.”
Derek raises his eyebrows. He’s not going to deny that Eliot Spencer is hot, and watching his fighting technique is definitely arousing, but there’s one thing—
“Eliot’s an omega, Stiles.”
“What?! No way,” Stiles sits upright, staring at the screen, and then back at Derek.
“The hottest alpha on the show would be Hardison,” Derek muses. “Most definitely. I mean, I would say Parker, but if we’re going only by—”
Stiles’ mouth falls open. “Hardison is an alpha?” He turns his eye to the screen, where Hardison is grinning and in control of the con, looking smooth and confident. “Oh my God, this is mindblowing. How did you know this?”
“We’ve watched all the cast interviews and the behind-the-scenes stuff together, Stiles! Can’t believe you didn’t pick this up. I mean, Christian Kane had a whole segment on how the producers wanted Eliot to be an alpha, but Kane’s an omega and wanted to play Eliot as an omega, and it really was great for the character, because people assume—”
“Yeah, no, I get it, that’s great,” Stiles says, blushing. “I just— when I pictured the three of them together, and who knots who, I always just imagined—”
Derek laughs. “Well, I bet Hardison’s knot is huge.”
Stiles grins. “Yeah, I would definitely, yeah, ten out of ten, would bang. I mean, it was still ten out of ten when I thought he was an omega, but ah— yeah. I dunno.” Stiles blushes, a pretty pink bloom of color forming high in his cheeks. “Sorry, is this weird? Me talking about knots and all?”
“Stiles, you have once taken photos of the ‘weird things on your balls’ and tried to ask me if in my medical opinion, it was cancer or not. I don’t think there’s such a thing as TMI between us.”
Derek tries to give Stiles an exasperated look, and doesn’t mind that he’s failing; Stiles hasn’t ever been intimidated by his grumpy face. It actually does the trick and makes Stiles laugh, the tension from the question disappearing from the air.
“Dude, it’s a serious question, okay, I was legit worried!”
“Stiles, they’re just moles. You have them everywhere. It’s not a big deal. They’re cute.”
Stiles turns to look at him so fast Derek wonders if he’s crossed a line.
“You’re my friend, you have to say that,” Stiles grumbles.
Derek coughs. “Okay, yeah, um — cookies! The cookies should be ready to eat. I have ice cream, too, plain vanilla, because you’re boring.”
“Hey, hey, vanilla bean is classic, and awesome, and you’re the one who has it in their freezer, why are you buying boring ice cream if you don’t like it, huh?”
Stiles sticks his tongue out at him, and Derek chuckles, grabbing the carton from the freezer, spoons, and the tray of cookies. He sets everything down on the coffee table, and plops back on the couch next to Stiles, where they watch the Leverage team convince a dirty CEO that he’s been contacted by aliens, Stiles happily munching on cookies and spooning ice cream directly from the carton into his mouth.
It’s not that different than any of their other Friday evenings, and Derek relaxes, enjoying the episode, enjoying Stiles’ company.
Stiles yawns, and Derek takes the empty carton of ice cream away from him, gently setting it down on the table, and takes the spoon out of Stiles’ hands. Stiles’ fingers brush his for a long moment, and then Stiles looks up at him, eyes soft.
Their faces are only a few inches apart. “Yeah?” Derek replies, almost a whisper.
“Do you— do you kiss the omegas? The ones you help with their heat. I know you said you haven’t… done the full service yet, but um, you have… with…?” Stiles trails off, his usual confident demeanor fading.
“It’s something that’s worked out between the client and the alpha they choose prior to the heat. It’s um, it’s just to, um, help with the intimacy, and the comfort of the client. It’s really up to them, whether or not kissing is a very personal thing they want to share...” Derek feels nervous all of a sudden; Stiles knows this, should know this, he’s peppered Derek with questions about the clinic ever since Derek started working there. Is he asking because…he wants to know Derek’s feelings? If this could be more than just heat relief? “I don’t think I would, if I were asked,” Derek admits. “With a client, I mean, um, it’s kind of personal, something I’d want to keep between me and my bondmate.”
Stiles nods, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Do you want to kiss me?” Derek asks, his heart in his throat.
Stiles catches his gaze; this close his eyes are more amber than brown, liquid and warm, pupils wide with— with want, Derek hopes. Even if it’s just for physical relief— if this is the only chance he’ll ever have to be with Stiles, he’ll take it.
Stiles’ eyes flick to Derek’s lips, and then he parts his own, tongue sweeping across his bottom lip.
Derek can’t look away from the soft pink of his mouth. He leans forward, just slightly, drawn towards the moment, waiting for Stiles to respond—
“We— we shouldn’t kiss,” Stiles breathes out.
The words sink into Derek like a stone, but he nods in agreement.
“You said it’d be too personal, so um, yeah,” Stiles looks away. “Uh, do you wanna watch the next episode?”
Derek puts on the next one, cleans up the dirty dishes, and returns to the couch. Stiles cracks a few jokes about Nate’s ridiculous hair in this episode, and all thoughts of kissing are put behind them. Back to normal for the usual Stiles and Derek’s Leverage nights, complete with Stiles falling asleep on the couch.
Except Derek doesn’t cover him with a blanket and pad off to sleep in his bedroom, like he normally would— he already made up the bed for Stiles to be here for the weekend, Stiles should sleep in the bed. Derek can sleep on the couch, it’s fine.
He picks up Stiles easily, and Stiles presses his face into Derek’s chest, oblivious to the world. Derek carries him into the bedroom, laying him down on the silk sheets, fluffs up an extra pillow and places it behind Stiles, frowning.
Derek quietly steals back out of the bedroom, heads out onto the fire escape. The cool night air washes over him for a quick moment before he slips into the open window of the neighboring apartment.
Scott is still awake, sprawled out across the floor amidst a pile of textbooks. He looks up when Derek steps in and waves.
“Just getting his pillow,” Derek says.
“Oh! Good idea,” Scott says, pointing the pen at him.
Derek walks into the bedroom; it’s easy to see which side is which; Scott’s bed is neatly made, all his clothes and things organized and put away, and Stiles’ bed is a mess of blankets, clothes, and books. Derek picks up the pillow, shaking it slightly, and walks back out.
Scott gives him a knowing smirk that makes Derek blush as he leaves.
Stiles is still asleep when he returns, albeit tossing and turning in Derek’s bed. Derek eases his favorite pillow underneath him slowly, and then like magic, Stiles’ breathing steadies and his movements calm. His lashes are dark on his cheek, and he looks peaceful here, in Derek’s bed.
Derek can’t help the surge of contentment that rushes through him, knowing that he’s done well, taking such good care of his mate.
Derek shakes the thought off. Stiles isn’t his, as much as he’d like to think.
He turns to leave.
Stiles reaches out sleepily, grabbing Derek’s hand, squeezing it and pulling him back towards the bed.
“Sorry, I’m gonna— you can take the bed. I’ll be on the couch if you need me,” Derek whispers.
“Stay,” Stiles says. “Please?”
Stiles opens his eyes, blinking beseechingly up at him. He isn’t talking in his sleep, he’s tired, yes, but he’s asking Derek, his hand on Derek’s own, thumb slightly stroking across the back of his palm.
“Okay.” Derek slips under the covers on the other side of the bed, careful to give Stiles an appropriate amount of space.
Stiles is still holding his hand, though, and as soon as Derek’s in the bed, Stiles pulls him closer, closing his eyes and sighing, going right back to sleep, curling right up against him..
Derek freezes, not knowing what to do with his arms— Stiles has already seized one arm, and is pulling it close across his chest, and is snuggled up close, so close that Derek can feel the soft swell of Stiles’ butt pressing right into his own thigh. He closes his eyes and considers wrapping his other arm around Stiles, holding him close, but responding to it would make this officially cuddling.
And this is just a heat. Stiles doesn’t want that.
Derek comes to surrounded by the most delicious scent he’s ever known. Before he opens his eyes, while he’s still in that strange in between place between sleeping and awake, it’s a glorious dream, made up of the scents he likes best, like the graphite and wood of fresh pencil shavings, reminding him of when Stiles takes notes with H2 pencils, worrying them in his mouth as he studies, leaving the pencil shavings everywhere as he works on essays. And a hint of cinnamon, like that time Stiles tried to bake muffins in Derek’s apartment and the cinnamon container wasn’t shut right and he dumped the entire thing into the flour mix, all of it going everywhere. Stiles had smelled like cinnamon for weeks, and Derek never forgot the delighted laugh he made, how he slipped his batter-wet fingers into Derek’s mouth for him to taste test.
The dream is focused, now; Stiles in Derek’s kitchen, cinnamon in his hair, his bright smile,watching Derek tentatively lick at his fingers.
Derek groans, thinking of that day a few months ago, how he should have told Stiles how he felt, and then the dream takes a turn from memory and Stiles takes his own fingers and starts licking them salaciously, never taking his eyes off Derek, and then pulls Derek in for a hard kiss, mouth sweet with sugared batter, hands roaming, down, down...
“Stiles,” Derek moans.
“Morning, Derek,” is the answer.
Derek blinks, startled out of the dream, and yet— and yet— Stiles is in his arms, in his bed, and the scent is still here, wood and spice and thicker than it was in the dream, rich and lush with it. Stiles’ cheeks are flushed, and his eyes bright. Derek realizes he’s sprawled over Stiles, an arm and leg thrown over Stiles’ body, pinning him to the bed.
Derek is also rock hard, and he realizes he’s digging into the plush of Stiles’ ass. Stiles must have woken up first and tried to get free, but Derek was too heavy— and the friction must have crossed over into his dream.
“I am so sorry,” Derek says, horrified at himself. He pulls away, flopping onto his back, grabbing the nearest pillow and placing it in his lap.
Stiles laughs. “It’s alright. It was a nice preview.” He glances appreciatively at the pillow. “I’m looking forward to it, actually.”
Stiles’ scent is a heady rush, now, and Derek gulps, suddenly nervous. He wants nothing more than to surge forward and capture Stiles’ lips in his own, to taste the source of that scent, touch his mate—
Derek coughs. “How are you feeling?”
“A little hot, but that’s normal,” Stiles says, sitting up.
Derek hasn’t been around Stiles during his heat before; Stiles has always just holed up in his room, alone. Now Derek can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way Stiles’ eyes are tracking Derek’s mouth, and the glassy sheen of his eyes.
He’s also tenting in his sweatpants.
Stiles draws his knees up, a sudden bashful look on his face that Derek has never seen before— Stiles, flustered or embarrassed, yes, but Stiles has always been brash and lewd and oversharing, and Derek has not once ever seen him shy.
If this were a normal client session, the protocol is to let them take the lead, for the omega to tell him what to do, what they wanted from him, whether it it’s a backrub or a foot massage or to hand them a toy and whisper encouragement in their ear. The omega is the boss here, whatever they say goes.
Except Stiles isn’t saying anything, he’s just sitting on the bed, looking at Derek feverishly.
“Stiles?” Derek asks tentatively. “What would you like me to do? We don’t have to start anywhere in particular. Whatever you want, just let me know. I can bring you breakfast if you’re hungry, or run you a hot bath—”
“You,” Stiles says finally. “Um. Yeah, we can start with— I’d like to— yeah.”
“Okay,” Derek says gently. “We can start with sex.”
“It’s protocol for the omega to initiate all contact,” Derek says. “Just tell me what you would like me to do.”
“Take off your clothes,” Stiles says, voice husky.
Derek pushes himself off the bed stands up; he hadn’t had the foresight to be wearing sweatpants like Stiles was yesterday; he’d come home right from shopping and gone into cooking and cleaning and preparing, and then he’d fallen asleep in his stiff jeans and henley. He strips out of the shirt, dropping it on the floor, not missing the way Stiles swallows, his eyes never leaving Derek.
Derek unzips his jeans and shoves them down, and then shoves down his briefs. His cock springs forward, bouncing eagerly, and every nerve of Derek’s body is alight with anticipation.
Stiles watches him hungrily, and Derek can practically see the thoughts whirring behind his head as he takes in Derek’s naked form. “So… in a session, you basically do whatever the omega tells you to do?”
Derek nods. “Within reason of the parameters previously discussed, but yeah. We talked about this, Stiles. I’m only going to do what you want me to do.”
There’s a gleam of excitement in Stiles’ eyes now, Stiles’ usual boldness seeping through. “Okay, yeah. That sounds— that sounds good.”
Derek lifts his eyebrows in question. He should feel vulnerable, standing here naked, heart pounding, but he doesn’t. Stiles’ gaze is appreciative, aroused, and Derek drinks in the weight of that look, even though it’s just a physical thing, Derek can feel wanted, in this moment.
“What if I want you to suck me off?” Stiles asks breathlessly.
“Do you want to leave your clothes on?” Derek asks, stepping closer to the bed.
Stiles shakes his head, grabbing the hem of his shirt and lifts it over his head. He tosses it in the corner, and Derek can see the blush on his cheeks travel down his neck and bloom across his chest, his nipples puffy and pink, standing at attention.
Stiles hesitates at the waistband of his sweatpants, the shyness returning, and he pulls them down slowly, drawing them up to his knees and then kicking them aside.
Derek can see it from where he is, the trail of slick shining between Stiles’ thighs, and he subconciously licks his lips; he can practically taste it in the air. He reaches for Stiles’ hips, gently taking him by the thighs and pulling him to the edge of the bed. At the first touch Stiles shudders, eyes rolling back, like the heat of Derek’s hands on his bare thighs is too much. His legs fall open, cock jutting out, dark with arousal, like Stiles has been hard for hours and hours.
His heat must have started sometime in the middle of the night, and Stiles has just been aching for relief, waiting.
Derek’s alpha instinct is to alleviate that, immediately, but he wants to make this good for Stiles, wants to give him all the pleasure he deserves. He drops to his knees between Stiles’ spread legs, taking it all in; Stiles naked, in his bed, breathing shallowly, his own scent of cinnamon and wood intensified with need and want, mingling with Derek’s own scent from his room, it’s just an onslaught of StileshomemineStilesminematehome, and Derek never wants to stop smelling it.
He presses a kiss to the inside of Stiles’ thigh. “You are beautiful,” Derek says, soft and sincere.
Stiles’ eyes widen, and Derek realizes he’s just— he’s just initiated the the touch, without asking, oh fuck—
“Sorry, I, um, I just—”
“No, no, please, I liked it. Keep going,” Stiles says, voice wavering.
Derek is good at following instructions. He places another kiss on that pale skin, and another, and another, working his way up the inside of Stiles’ thighs, until he meets the base of Stiles’ dripping cock.
“Derek, please touch me,” Stiles begs.
Derek licks from the base to the tip, using his tongue to lave attention everywhere, achingly slow.
Stiles throws his head back, gripping the sheets with his hands, but his fingers slip through the silk. “Oh, fuck,” Stiles breathes. “Derek—”
Derek whorls his tongue around the head, and then takes Stiles’ length into his throat, keeping a steady rhythm, breathing in the sweet taste of him. Stiles’ body trembles with the pleasure, and he falls onto the bed, arching his back.
Derek alternates with his hands, taking a moment to take a breath. He squeezes Stiles’ balls fondly, stroking Stiles’ cock and thumbing the head of his cock, noting how gorgeous Stiles looks, the cream of his skin contrasted by the wine red of the sheets. “Do the sheets feel good?”
“Do the sheets— fuck the sheets, Derek, your mouth!” Stiles gasps.
Derek smirks and goes back to it, wrapping his lips around Stiles’ leaking cock, tasting the salty tang of his precome, of skin and sweat and musk. He goes faster, making it wet and sloppy, holding onto Stiles’ thighs as he quivers.
“Derek, I’m gonna— Derek!” Stiles comes with a loud cry, spurting hot down Derek’s throat.
He swallows it down, savoring Stiles’ taste, and then presses come-slick kisses to Stiles’ still-hard cock, down his thighs, moving towards his hole.
“Oh my God,” Stiles says, chest heaving, the aftereffects of the orgasm slurring his voice. He’s in the full thrust of his heat, now that he’s come. It’ll be nonstop from this point, the heightened need for more touch, more orgasms, just more.
Stiles’ hole is shining wet where his slick has dripped out of him, thighs soaked with it. Derek laps at Stiles’ thigh, moving towards that pink heart, drawn towards the source of the scent that’s been driving him wild. He licks him open, moaning as the taste floods his mouth, the taste of Stiles, pure and sweet. Stiles is already loose and open here, his heat easing the way, and Stiles’ hips jerk forward, pushing himself closer to Derek’s willing mouth.
Stiles is babbling, a river of Derek’s name mixed with benedictions and moans, and Derek realize what he’s done, drunk on Stiles’ heat scent. He pulls back, opening his mouth to apologize, but Stiles grabs him by the hair and pushes him back between his thighs, groaning.
“That’s fucking amazing, please don’t, please don’t tell me you feel bad because of your clinic’s rules— it’s super sweet and all, but we made our own thing, you know, and I’m not—one of your clients— I’m your friend— ah!— I don’t think I know enough of what I want for this to work if I - ah, that feels amazing— have to initiate everything, and —Derek! — I trust you, to do this, please — what do you want to do, just tell me—”
Stiles lets go of Derek’s hair, and Derek draws back from Stiles’ thighs for a second to take a deep breath, trying not to be overwhelmed. Stiles’ slick is all over his face, soaking into his beard, and Derek feels a little dazed with it. “I want to eat you out and finger you until you come again. And then I want to— “ make love to you— “fuck you until you’re begging me for my knot, and to fill you up so good. I want— I want to make this the best heat you’ve ever had, Stiles.”
Stiles exhales, nodding fervently. “Yeah, all of that, I knew you would take care of me.”
He grabs Derek by the shoulder, pulling him up and yanking him onto the bed, and Derek tumbles forward. For a second he thinks Stiles wants to pull him into a kiss, but that can’t be right. He probably just wants the closeness, the intimacy that a heat makes omegas crave— it’s the biological imperative, during their most fertile time to make them seek a mate.
Instead, Derek licks at Stiles’ throat, mouthing at the skin here, leaving a trail of kisses as he works his hands down Stiles’ chest, tweaking a nipple as he goes. The sheets are cool underneath him, a pleasant contrast to their hot bodies, and the smooth silk feels like a dream. Stiles feels even better, his hot body responding to every touch, twitching with sensitivity as Derek touches him.
Stiles gasps, turning towards Derek, eyes liquid gold. He grabs Derek’s chin, pulling his face up to meet his own, and presses his forehead to Derek’s.
“Make me come, Derek,” Stiles breathes.
Derek traces a finger at Stiles’ entrance; he’s so wet that the finger just slips in, right to the knuckle. Stiles easily takes another, and another, clenching down, eyes fluttering as he tries to fuck himself on Derek’s fingers.
“Does this feel good?” Derek whispers, crooking his fingers inside Stiles, searching for—
“Ah!” Stiles shudders, his cock spilling again.
Derek kisses Stiles’ neck, holding him close, watching him enjoy this, the pleasure that Derek’s giving him. He gets up to change position so he can rim Stiles again, but Stiles grabs him, holding him in place.
“No, no, stay here,” Stiles says.
“Okay,” Derek says, rubbing his hands along Stiles’ shoulders. “Do you want to take a break?”
Stiles nods, closing his eyes. Derek cards his fingers through Stiles’ hair, and with his other hand reaches under the bed and pulls out the box he had prepared. He grabs a bottle of water, wondering if he should leave the packet of straws. It’s early yet, Stiles probably doesn’t need it— but what if he’s comfortable lying down like this and doesn’t want to move? Better get it in case.
Derek fixes the bottle with a straw and hands it to Stiles.
Stiles snorts at the straw, flicking it, but he takes it anyways, taking deep gulps as Derek takes out a towel and wipes Stiles down. He tosses the used towel in a corner and takes a drink of water for himself.
Stiles is watching him, a contented expression on his face.
“You’re good at this,” he says lazily. “The taking care of omegas thing.”
Derek shrugs. “Maybe I’m just good at taking care of you.”
Stiles laughs, but he blinks with interest when Derek picks a few baby tangerines out of the box. “Dude! My favorite! They’re so little and cute. I just hate—”
Derek’s already unpeeling one, tossing the skin back in the box and offering the fruit to Stiles.
“—peeling them. Wow, you really thought of everything.” He makes grabby hands for the tangerine, and then a mischievous expression crosses his face. “If you wanna do it right, you should just—” Stiles opens his mouth and waits, expectant.
Derek falters, but he manages to compose himself. He breaks off a few slices and holds them out to Stiles, who moves forward, taking the slices, wet lips grazing Derek’s fingers. Derek moves to draw his hand back, but Stiles just inches forward, taking Derek’s fingers into his mouth, sucking on them, looking right back up at Derek.
Derek is not proud of the noise he makes.
Stiles looks pleased.
Derek takes his hand back, sorely tempted to lick his fingers in return, but focuses on feeding Stiles the rest of the tangerine instead. Each piece disappears behind Stiles’ pink lips, wet and sticky with juice, and Derek is grateful when they’re done. He should have planned the food better… he hadn’t expected it to be quite so sensual.
“Would you like more fruit? We should rest a little, before...”
“Want more you,” Stiles says quickly. “Want your knot— wanted it for so l— I mean, I want to know what it’s like,” Stiles says hastily.
Derek sits on the bed next to him, running a hand lightly down Stiles’ chest, grazing his nipples, and then stroking his cock— still hard, still leaking, ever so gently— and then tracing the rim of his slick hole. Stiles gasps at all the touches, body arching up in shock. “You’ve just come, twice,” Derek says. “You’re really sensitive right now. You’ve had heats before, you know this— doing too much too fast is the right way to get hurt.”
“I know,” Stiles says petulantly. “I just— I’ve never had a partner, it just felt so good, and you’re here, and you smell amazing, and I’m finally seeing how fucking huge your cock is and I want it, want all of it—”
“You’re craving touch and intimacy right now, that’s perfectly normal. Here. Lie down. I can give you a massage and by the time I’m done you’ll be ready for more.”
Derek lifts his eyebrows, and Stiles raises his own back, pretending to be exasperated, but it’s far from mocking. There’s a smile tugging on Stiles’ lips as he lies down on his belly. Derek picks up the pillow he brought from Stiles’ apartment and hands it to him. Stiles sighs, plopping his face down in it happily as Derek grabs the bottle of massage oil from his nightstand.
“You brought my pillow,” Stiles says.
“You can’t sleep without it,” Derek says, squirting the oil into his hands and rubbing them together to warm them up.
“Thank you,” Stiles says, his words muffled into a groan when Derek starts kneading his shoulders.
“Of course.” Derek sweeps his hands across the planes of his shoulderblades, and then changes direction, running his hands down Stiles’ spine. Stiles goes pliant under his hands, moaning softly when Derek repeatedly rubs the oil into his skin, taking his time to smooth the tension out of the muscles in his shoulders, back, and arms.
Stiles closes his eyes; gorgeous and ethereal in the morning light shifting through the windows. Every noise he makes goes right to Derek’s cock, achingly hard, and there’s a part of Derek that wants to take himself in hand and stroke himself, just a bit, but he doesn’t want to lose any stamina, not when Stiles needs as much of him as he can give.
Derek focuses on his breathing, on the steady scent of Stiles spread out below him, touches Stiles as slowly as he can, memorizing the feel of his skin under his hands, the soft little sighs Stiles makes when Derek rubs his hands down his thighs, massaging his calves, his ankles, his feet, each toe.
Derek maps out every part of Stiles’ body, traces the moles on his back, the ones that sprinkle on the generous curve of his ass. He presses a gentle kiss to the back of Stiles’ neck, and then a series of kisses down Stiles’ spine, and continues with the massage. He pours in all his hopes and yearnings into the touch, tells Stiles silently with every sweep of his fingers, that he’ll be here for him, however he needs.
It’s been an hour, at least, and Stiles’ breathing is steady. Derek lifts his hands and watches him for a moment, about to grab the blanket when Stiles turns over. He looks comfortable, relaxed, arms propping himself up, looking completely at home in Derek’s bed. “Why’d you stop?” Stiles demands.
“Thought you were asleep. Do you want more?”
Stiles mouth parts, and Derek can see the deep velvety red of the inside of it, knowing he’ll probably never know how he tastes there.
Stiles spreads his legs. “If by more you mean what I think you mean...yeah, I think I’m ready.”
His hole is gaping, clenching down on empty air, rosy pink and waiting. Derek reaches out to touch, slowly stretch him open, but Stiles grabs him by the wrist, pulling him forward until they’re chest to chest.
“You want me like this?” Derek asks, just to be sure.
“Please.” Stiles’ hands loop around Derek’s neck, and he looks earnestly up at Derek.
There’s so much trust in the expression— affection, too, and Derek brushes Stiles’ cheek tenderly as he lines himself up. He nuzzles at Stiles’ neck, kissing him there, hoping that his nervousness doesn’t show. Derek’s never had sex with anyone without a condom before, but Stiles wanted this, told Derek he had a solid birth control plan and that he’s always wanted to try it, and he wanted it with Derek. And that was that, they’d gotten tested and when they talked about it, signing the contract together, laying out everything they wanted— it had seemed easy and simple then, to say yes.
Derek closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and pushes forward.
Stiles’s body opens to him, and Derek can’t help the small, broken sound he makes— Stiles is hot and slick, taking Derek in like he belongs inside him, and he feels so good, tight and wet around Derek’s bare cock. He’s never felt anything like it.
Stiles’ breath stutters, and he holds on tight, eyes widening. “Derek,” he says, reverently.
“Is this okay? Am I hurting you? Too much? Should I go slower?”
Stiles wraps his legs around Derek’s hips, groaning as he pulls him closer. “More, c’mon, Derek, you’re not doing anything and this feels really amazing but—”
Derek pushes in deeper, and Stiles cries out, hands slipping from Derek’s neck, stroking down his back until he grips Derek’s ass, squeezing his cheeks.
It’s too much; Stiles’ hot wet heat all around him, Stiles’ hands on his ass, urging him forward, Stiles’ intoxicating scent, just Stiles.
Derek rocks forward, and then at Stiles’ urging, starts to pick up the rhythm, with deep strokes. He leans down low, not wanting to miss a single expression on Stiles’ face— the way his mouth parts, his eyes closed, he’s just a vision of slack-jawed pleasure, and Derek is giving it to him.
They’re so close their noses are touching, and Derek doesn’t want to move, letting his forehead rest on Stiles’ own, getting as close as he can. He cants his hips up, driving deeper into Stiles, and Stiles gasps, opening his eyes.
Stiles stares back, right at Derek, and Derek can’t look away, drawn to this gaze. Something unfurls inside him, something new and wonderful and uniquely tied to this moment that Derek doesn’t quite understand, but he knows it’s good, down to his bones.
Stiles takes his hands off Derek’s ass, reaching for each of Derek’s hands, interlacing their fingers together. It’s such a small gesture, but it makes Derek’s heart hurt. He closes his eyes, holding Stiles’ hands, and makes love to him, slowly and tenderly as he can, like he’s wanted to for so long.
Stiles’ mouth is a litany of desperate noises, each one more sensual than the next, and Derek is caught up in it, in the dream he’s made for himself, that his beautiful mate is in heat and Derek is honored with this gift, this time of heightened pleasure and sensitivity. He presses wet and sloppy kisses down Stiles’ jawline, down his hollow of his neck, tonguing each of his pert nipples.
“Please, Derek, ah— feels so good— please, I need—”
“I know what you need,” Derek says, voice rough with want. He’s close, having been hard for so long, his body is taut with the tension, and he needs to satisfy his omega, his mate, Stiles needs his—
Derek comes, hard and hot inside Stiles, and he keeps going, filling him up with his seed, continuing to thrust forward even through the length of the orgasm, not stopping until Stiles is coming again, spurting white messy streaks between them.
“Oh my God,” Stiles says.
The knot is swelling, tying them together. “Is that what you needed, baby?” Derek asks.
“So fucking full, feels so good,” Stiles says, groaning a little as he bears down on the knot.
A warm flourish of happiness surges through Derek; he satisfied his mate, he’s made him feel good, knotted him up so well. They lay like that for a good minute, Derek atop Stiles, letting him settle to the weight of the knot, basking in the glow of their orgasms, feeling content to just be. This feels good and right and wonderful, and Derek leans forward to kiss—
— no, Derek can’t do that.
He settles for kissing Stiles’ collarbone instead, and then his puffy nipple, worrying it in his mouth, wondering what Stiles might look like all swollen with milk for their pups.
Derek closes his eyes, trying to shake the idea from his mind, but his body is singing yesStilesmine at him, and they’re tied together now, and Stiles is— Stiles is running his hands through Derek’s hair.
“You called me baby,” Stiles says, amused.
Derek rests his cheek on Stiles’ chest, listening to his heartbeat. “I did,” he admits. “Um. It just— came out, I felt, I um—” He looks up at Stiles, expecting a smirk but finds only Stiles’ contemplative face, like he’s trying to figure something out. “I won’t do it again, sorry.”
“You’re— you’re kinda awful at dirty talk,” Stiles says, laughing. “It’s just really cute, okay.”
“Shut up,” Derek growls, but there’s no heat to it.
“Aw, baby,” Stiles croons.
This time Derek gets to feed Stiles without any teasing; Stiles laps eagerly at the tangerine pieces and drinks the from the bottle Derek holds for him. Derek’s rolled them over to a more comfortable position on their sides until the knot goes down, and it’s mostly fine, except they’re face to face and can’t separate just yet.
“Do you think this is weird?” Stiles asks, staring into Derek’s eyes.
“Not really.” Derek can think of a hundred worse things than to have to look at the man he loves.
“You should have totally mounted me from behind, thought that would be like in the manual.”
“It’s a pretty standard position, but you were the one who wanted me on top of you like that,” Derek says.
Stiles nods. “You are totally right. That was hot. And amazing. We should totally do it from behind, though. I want to try all the things.”
And they do try all the things. Stiles is fairly clear-headed while knotted, but as soon as Derek’s cock eases out of him, he’s bossy, feverish, caught in the full throes of his heat, demanding more, more, more.
Stiles on his hands and knees, ass shaking in the air, moaning as Derek thrusts into him.
Stiles riding Derek, bouncing up and down on Derek’s cock.
Stiles whimpering as Derek knots him again, straddling Derek’s lap as Derek whispers, “It’s okay, you’re doing so good,” stroking him as Stiles’ shudders again in orgasm.
“There you go, baby,” Derek says softly, kissing the top of Stiles’ head.
Stiles doesn’t tease him for the endearment this time, just rolls his hips, taking control of the position, working Derek’s cock until he comes again.
The knot is slower to swell this time, and Derek is panting, exhausted with the effort, but it’s worth it, the satisfied sigh Stiles makes, the way he nudges his face into Derek’s, his nose stroking Derek’s cheek.
They stay locked together like that, Derek holding Stiles close, not daring to break the tender spell. The only movement is their breathing, Stiles’ hands stroking the small of Derek’s back, Derek breathing in their combined scents, feeling Stiles’ heartbeat thrum underneath his skin.
Stiles slumps forward, eyes closed, breathing steady, and his hands fall.
“I’ve got you,” Derek whispers.
He waits until the knot dies down, and then gently lays Stiles on his back, easing himself out. Stiles moans a little but doesn’t immediately try to fill his empty hole, reaching for Derek’s cock or his fingers, or to try and touch himself. Derek places a hand on Stiles’ forehead, noting that his temperature has returned to normal, and his breathing is evened out.
His heat must have just broken. Stiles lays there, satisfied and dozing off. Derek grabs Stiles’ pillow, fluffing it up and tucking it under Stiles’ head, and gets up and takes a quick shower, returning with wet washcloths to clean Stiles up. He wipes away the trails of slick, and the come that’s leaking out of Stiles.
Even though Derek’s body is exhausted, his cock jumps a little in excitement at the sight, how lovely his bondmate looks, filled to the brim—
Derek swallows down the instinct that’s telling him to feel proud, ignoring the chorus of Stiles and mate and mine rushing through him. He cleans Stiles perfunctorily, as he would with any other client, then picks him up and lays him on the bedside chair (with his pillow) while he changes the sheets.
He picks Stiles back up and sets him down on the clean sheets. Derek’s placing Stiles’ pillow under his head, careful not to wake him up, when Stiles’ eyes blink lazily open.
“Derek,” Stiles says sleepily. He grabs Derek by the face and pulls him close, until their lips meet in a soft kiss.
Derek is more surprised than anything, and closes his eyes and enjoys the brief contact for a quick second, heart thudding with nerves— did Stiles change his mind? He wants to kiss after all? He waits for Stiles to deepen the kiss, to tell him that’s what he wants, when Stiles falls back on the pillow, sound asleep.
Derek stares at him for a long moment, kisses Stiles on the forehead, and lets him sleep.
The TV has been pulled into the bedroom, in case Stiles is in the mood to watch something when he wakes up; Derek’s got a portion of lasagna heating in the oven, in case Stiles is hungry and wakes up soon, the bedroom is clean, the air conditioning is on at full blast, the way Stiles likes it.
Derek climbs on the bed, watching Stiles sleep, the rise and fall of his chest, memorizes the pattern of moles on his cheek, allows himself this one small thing, to watch him, to be close to him.
He loses track of time, smiling and watching his mate— no, just, just Stiles— and soon enough Stiles shifts, opening his eyes.
“Ohhh, this is nice,” Stiles murmurs. “You— you cleaned and— oh my God, you moved that monster of a TV.”
Stiles reaches for him, and Derek obliges, wrapping his arms around him, letting Stiles bury his face into Derek’s chest. “Fuck, you smell good,” Stiles says, voice muffled. “And I feel so— so— ugh, Derek, thank you—”
Stiles looks up at him, eyes shining, and he takes a deep breath. “Lasagna? You made me lasagna?”
Derek nods. “Here, I’ll go get it—” He moves to get up, but Stiles makes a sad noise, like he doesn’t want Derek to go. “Okay, here, just—” Derek picks up Stiles, carrying him to the kitchen with him. He sets Stiles on the counter while he grabs a pair of oven mitts and takes out the hearty slice of lasagna.
The cheese is bubbling, and Stiles moans, reaching for it.
“Hot,” Derek warns.
“Yeah, you are, mmm, naked man feeding me delicious foods, this is a dream come true.” Stiles laughs as Derek puts the lasagna on a plate and grabs the bag of potato chips.
“C’mon,” Derek says, walking back towards the bedroom.
Stiles waggles his eyebrows at him. “You carried me out here. Please?”
“Stiles, what?” Derek raises his eyebrows right back. “You want me to carry you and the food?”
“I could carry the food— oh oh! I could, here, get over here—” Stiles waits until Derek walks forward, and then he throws his arms around Derek’s neck, wrapping his legs around Derek’s waist.
“This is ridiculous,” Derek says, but he walks back to the bedroom anyways, switching all the food to one hand so he can put a supporting arm around Stiles.
He sets Stiles down on the bed, sitting down next to him. “How are you feeling?”
“Great! Hungry. Horny. I don’t know. Um. I want to do that thing, where you go down on me for forever again, but I also really wanna eat this fucking lasagna and shove the whole thing in my face. Wait, this is only a slice, you can’t have just made a slice, right? You have the rest of this lasagna somewhere?”
“Yeah, I made a tray,” Derek says. “Food, or sex?”
“Food… and then sex?”
Derek hands him the plate of lasagna and opens the bag of potato chips, smiling as Stiles grabs a chip from the bag and starts using it to eat the lasagna.
“Oh my God, you know me too well, this is amazing,” Stiles says, shoveling food in his mouth. “Can’t believe you remembered this is my favorite.”
“You wouldn’t let me forget it the first time you figured out this combo,” Derek says, taking a chip and munching on it himself. “So you’re… actually still horny? I thought your heat broke the last time I knotted you.”
“No, dude, my heats always last two days at least,” Stiles says, mouth full. “And after I finish eating this, I want more of your dick.”
Derek stares. He’s never had an omega want to stay longer; they’ve always immediately known when they weren’t in heat anymore. Stiles’ scent has returned to normal intensity, and he certainly doesn’t smell like he’s in heat anymore, but he still smells good to Derek, so maybe Derek’s just being over sensitive. After all, it’s Stiles’ body, Stiles knows it best, and if Stiles still needs him, that’s what Derek’s here for.
“Okay,” Derek says.
“You’re not gonna just stand around and watch me eat, right? You’re eating food too?”
Derek leans over and takes a bite out of the lasagna-laden chip Stiles’ is holding. Stiles laughs, but he scoops up another one and feeds it to Derek. “We’re doing this backwards,” he says. “Next thing you know you’re going to be asking me to fuck you.”
“We could do that,” Derek says, closing his eyes and imagining it. He’d love to have Stiles like that; he’s imagined it before, slicking himself up and touching himself, imagining Stiles arching over him, giving it to him deep.
Stiles drops the chip he’s holding onto the plate and stares at Derek, wide-eyed. “Yeah?” he asks hoarsely.
Stiles puts all the food on the nightstand hastily. “Not hungry anymore.”
Derek laughs, and he gladly lets Stiles manhandle him into his hands and knees, hears Stiles fumble for Derek’s bottle of lube, run his hands over his ass. Stiles is eager, hesitant with his fingers until Derek shows him what he likes, how many fingers he can take, how he wants it. In all honestly Stiles could probably just be present and any orgasm Derek has will be the best one he’s had. Stiles’ fingers are longer than Derek’s own, and they feel good, so good, and Derek lets Stiles play with his hole long enough to realize Stiles is a fucking tease.
“This is your heat, you should be the one getting off,” Derek gasps, when Stiles finds his prostate.
“My heat, I do what I want, and right now this is what I want,” Stiles says. He takes his time stretching Derek out, to the point where Derek is aching for it.
“Stiles,” Derek breathes.
“Believe me, I’m getting off on this,” Stiles says.
Derek can feel the head of Stiles’ cock press into him, and he takes a deep breath, trying to adjust. It’s been awhile, and Stiles is bigger than any of the toys Derek’s had, but it feels good to be this full.
“Oh my God, Derek, you’re so tight, fuck, this is so—” Stiles is shaky with it, when he starts to thrust erratically into Derek, hips pistoning forward. “Derek, baby, fuck you’re—”
Stiles’ hands grip onto Derek’s hips, and he finds a rhythm, thrusting steadily. The bed shakes with it, and Derek grips the smooth silk sheets, as Stiles’ curious hands reach forward and start stroking his cock.
“Stiles, if you make me come now I won’t be— I won’t be able to knot you for a while,” Derek pants.
“I want you to come, want you to come on my cock, fuck, that would be so hot, Derek, do it for me, please—”
Stiles is close, Derek can tell by his scent, by how many orgasms he’s seen him through already, and the thought of Stiles wanting him to come like this, wanting to pleasure Derek, is enough to send him over the edge, spilling into Stiles’ hand.
Stiles moans, stroking Derek’s cock with his own come, hips pressed flush against Derek’s ass, movement quickening until he cries out.
Stiles’ come is hot and Derek can feel it, thick and creamy inside him, and Stiles gasps, slumping over Derek’s back. His hand is still on Derek’s cock, stroking, almost like an afterthought, and then—
Derek moans as the knot swells up again, thickening under Stiles’ hand.
“Derek? Is that—?”
“I’m sorry,” Derek says. “I know I’m supposed to save it for you, but you’re so, so—”
Stiles strokes the knot affectionately. “Aw, you did so good, baby—”
“Are you making fun of me?” Derek asks, embarrassed.
Stiles pets the knot. “Nope. You’ve got a big, beautiful knot here, I’m just telling you how great it looks, bet it feels good too.” He squeezes the knot, making Derek groan. It’s not as good as when he knotted Stiles’ earlier, but the pressure still feels nice.
Derek turns to look at him, and Stiles has this easy, happy expression that’s just so relaxed. Derek must have taken too long to figure out what to say when Stiles blinks, looking awkward, and he eases out of Derek, blushing a bit.
“Sorry, that was weird, shouldn’t have played with your knot,” Stiles says. “Um, thank you, for um, letting me do that, it was good— it was a good experience. You, uh, at the clinic, that’s part of the service?”
Derek frowns. “Like I said, that would be between each client and the alpha, when they decide what they want and don’t want— Stiles, you know this. And you know that I haven’t done anything more than hold a toy at the clinic, why are you asking—”
“It was dumb, okay, forget it.” Stiles plops back onto one of the pillows, and Derek immediately feels bad.
“I didn’t mean it like that, it was just a weird question, that’s all,” Derek says, reaching out to pat Stiles on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, it’s your heat, you can ask—”
“Yeah, it’s my heat,” Stiles says, sighing.
Derek nods, stroking Stiles’ shoulders. “How are you doing so far? What do you need from me right now?”
“Hungry? Thirsty? Tired? If you want to get off I can go down on you, if you like.”
Derek reaches under the bed for his box again and pulls out a bottle of blue Gatorade, offering it to Stiles.
“And you got my favorite flavor. Of course,” Stiles says, taking the bottle and holding it.
“I’m taking care of you,” Derek says. “Of course I got your favorite.”
Stiles looks up from the bottle and catches Derek’s eye, looking as shy as he did the first moment he’s gotten undressed in Derek’s bed. “This is gonna sound super cheesy, but um, can you just hold me for awhile? And we can watch TV or something?”
They get under the covers together, and Derek hands Stiles the remote control, looping an arm around Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles tucks his head right under Derek’s chin, taking a long gulp from the Gatorade, and puts on Netflix.
They watch two episodes of Leverage before Stiles is asleep, and Derek eases the remote and the empty bottle out of his hands, sets everything aside, turns off the TV, and settles down to sleep next to his mate.
Sunday is a blur of warm cuddling, watching Leverage together, Stiles’ bright laughter, his sweet cinnamon and woodsy scent mingled with Derek’s own, everywhere in the apartment. It’s not that different than any other time Stiles has come over and had a movie marathon with him, lots of companionably eating food, joking about their favorite show together. What’s new is the cuddling, the sex they have in between bouts of TV and food and short naps.
And the sex. So many different positions, so many times; Stiles wants to try everything. Derek eats him out, wet and sloppy, while stroking him off with his hands; Stiles enthusiastically rims Derek until he gets impatient and needs to fuck him again; Stiles makes a contest of who can make the other come first when they sixty-nine.
There’s less pressure on the second day; Derek knots Stiles twice, but it’s easy, playful even, the sex fun without the desperate need for satisfaction. They take a shower together, and Stiles lathers up the soap and makes Derek foamy eyebrows and laughs, and laughs. It’s silly and ridiculous and actually kind of perfect.
And when Stiles starts grinding on him in the shower, wet and slippery and smelling like Derek, holding himself open for him, that’s kind of perfect too.
It’s not that late, when they wake up from another nap. The display on Derek’s phone reads 10:32 pm, and he didn’t schedule work tomorrow, just in case Stiles needed him for another day.
Stiles lifts himself up from Derek’s chest and Derek smiles, lazily, threading their fingers together and squeezing.
“So my heat’s over,” Stiles says. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Derek says, even though his heart is starting to break already.
“It was really— really good.” Stiles squeezes Derek’s hands back. “Um, we could— we could do this again.”
Derek thinks about it for a moment, thinks about helping Stiles through another heat, getting to have this again, and knows in an instant that he can’t go through this again. Be with Stiles, get to experience every intimacy he’s ever wanted, but can’t have— it would be too much.
“I’m sorry,” Derek says, sincere. “I— I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
Stiles stares at him for a moment, and then sits up completely, shifting away from Derek, taking one of the sheets with him. He drapes it around himself like a toga, standing up. “You’re right,” he says. “You said your clients, um, you’re not allowed, because for safety reasons, and privacy, and it wouldn’t be fair, to encourage a bond that was started in this, um, clinical setting—”
Derek opens his mouth to say, no, that’s not it at all, but Stiles keeps talking.
“Right, well, um, normally I have to take a day off to recover, but I think I can actually go to class tomorrow, so, thanks again…” Stiles drags the sheet off the bed with him. He looks around, wide-eyed and a little lost.
“Your clothes are still in the laundry,” Derek says. “I can get them—”
“It’s fine, I’ll get em later,” Stiles mumbles.
And then he leaves, wearing nothing more than the silk sheet. Derek is left in his empty bed that smells of the heat they spent together.
Monday is difficult, as Derek doesn’t have work or classes to distract himself with. He cleans his apartment, but no matter how much he mops and vacuums and does laundry, everything smells of sex and Stiles. The worst part isn’t even being aroused by the residual scents, knowing what they did, how they did it, where they did it. It’s when Derek finally looks down at his clean apartment, and he sits down on his own couch.
The couch smells like Stiles. Not because of the heat, though. It smells like Friday nights spent together watching TV, of Stiles coming over to study with him, of Stiles sitting upside down and trying to read his novel because he likes the lighting in Derek’s apartment. It hits Derek then, the entirety of how he feels, everything that’s built up over the past two years, how much he loves Stiles, how incredible this weekend was, but every bit of pleasure had a cutting edge to it, knowing that he’ll never truly get to have it.
Derek doesn’t see Stiles for two weeks. He doesn’t know where he stands, if it’s weird between them now, but he’d thought from the start that the point of asking “as friends” was that they’d continue to be friends. It hurts, Stiles’ absence, and Derek begins to see just how often Stiles had come over. He’d dropped off a box of Stiles’ things the day after, and Scott had taken it, said Stiles wasn’t there. The box hadn’t just been the clothes Stiles had been wearing; there’d been odds and ends Derek had found in his apartment, and he’d ended up washing all of it and returning it— Stiles’ old hoodie from his high school lacrosse team, two pairs of sweatpants, a few t-shirts, some brightly colored socks that had to be Stiles’. It had surprised him how much of Stiles’ stuff he had in the first place— sure, Stiles had some extra clothes he could change into, but Derek hadn’t realized it was so much.
He wonders now, after not hearing from Stiles for so long, if giving all of it back gave Stiles the wrong idea. It was just nice, to wash it and return it, right?
It wasn’t complete radio silence; Derek had texted Stiles on Monday, just a simple, how are you?
Stiles had responded good thanks just busy with classes, midterms next week
And that was it. Then midterms week came and went, and Derek still hasn’t seen him. Every time he’s gone over to their apartment it’s either been empty, or just Scott, or Scott and Kira, but he hasn’t seen Stiles at all.
Derek now fervently wishes he hadn’t agreed to help Stiles with his heat, if it meant losing his friendship. He paces back and forth in his apartment, frustrated and angry with himself, holding one of Stiles’ shirts, one that he found today, wedged behind the couch in the living room. Even washed, it smells faintly of Stiles, and Derek is debating whether to go now and return it when he hears footsteps on the fire escape.
Hope wells up in his chest and Derek turns to see someone climb through the window—
Scott, not Stiles.
“Hey,” Scott says, staring at Derek.
“You look like shit too,” Scott remarks.
“Thanks?” Derek says, frowning as he turns to catch his reflection in the other window. He hasn’t been able to sleep lately, and there are bags under his eyes, his beard is untrimmed and scraggly, climbing down his neck in a fit of unruliness. Every night has been like a slow ache in his heart, and he tosses and turns and finds no relief from the loneliness. It’s never been this bad before, sleeping alone, and like that brief time where he had Stiles has changed him, dulled all of his senses without his mate.
“That Stiles’ shirt?” Scott asks, gesturing towards the thing Derek’s been worrying in his hands.
Scott sighs, shaking his head. “I can’t believe this. The both of you. I told Stiles you’re probably miserable too, and he’s like no, Scotty, Derek doesn’t want me like that—”
“What? He’s miserable? Is he okay? What happened?”
Scott narrows his eyes. “What happened? What happened is you broke up with him, right after you guys got together. That doesn’t even make sense, like the Derek I know wouldn’t want to use my best friend just for sex because the Derek I know is actually head over heels for said best friend, and the two of you took long enough getting together in the first place, and I know I shouldn’t be interfering but I just want you two to be happy again. I don’t even know what happened, Derek, Stiles won’t tell me anything except that like, you don’t want to be with him or something and then he changes the subject. I can’t even make sense of it, he’s just been acting on autopilot, like, actually doing all of his homework and everything, but I can’t stand it anymore—”
Derek would have jumped in earlier but he’d been trying to make sense of what Scott was saying. “What do you mean, broke up? We weren’t together,” Derek says, confused.
Scott gives him an equally confused look right back. “You brought him his stuff back, though?”
“Yeah, I was gonna bring back clothes he was wearing, and I guess I just found a lot more when I was cleaning, so I just did a load of laundry and washed it all for him.”
“You’re not— not bonded? You smell—”
Derek shakes his head. “That— that’s from that one weekend, Scott. That temporary bond should have disappeared by now, I’m surprised you can still smell it. It was just for Stiles’ heat, that’s what he asked me to help with. Nothing more.”
Scott opens his mouth, furrows his eyebrows, and then closes his mouth. He takes a breath, and then bites his lip, thinking. “Hold up. Stiles didn’t ask you about his upcoming heat within the context, of like, telling you that he—” Scott blinks, stops himself, as if realizing something. “I’ll be right back,” he says, and disappears out the window.
“What?” Derek asks, to empty air.
Scott comes back a moment later, this time with Stiles walking behind him, eyes downcast. Scott hops into Derek’s apartment, pulling Stiles along with him.
“Hi,” Stiles says, stopping a few feet away from Derek, looking at him nervously.
“Hi,” Derek says back. Should he smile? He should. Derek smiles hopefully at him, but it feels strange and weak, and he feels self conscious for doing it because Stiles just gives him a nonplussed look right back.
“You didn’t tell him,” Scott says to Stiles.
Stiles looks at the floor. “I can’t believe you told him.”
“It was an accident. I thought he already knew, and you didn’t tell me you didn’t tell him!”
“Tell me what?” Derek asks.
“I couldn’t, okay, it would have been weird, laying all that out and then asking him to help me with my heat, I’m sorry Scott, I just, like, just look at his adorable confused face!” Stiles gestures at Derek. “I couldn’t put him in that position.”
“What?” Derek is lost.
Stiles nods, making beseeching eyes at Scott.
Scott folds his arms, and Stiles sighs.
“I, um, Derek, I’ve been meaning to say that I… I…” Stiles trails off, glancing at Derek quickly and then looking away again.
Derek has no idea where he’s going with this.
“Oh, come on!” Scott says, gesturing frantically. “Look, you both know what you’re feeling, right? It’s withdrawal from early mate bonding. It’s normal. I went through it with Kira after we first bonded, we needed to constantly be around each other, okay, it was physically straining, like I got headaches and she got dizzy and then we figured it out together, but like, the two of you, like I dunno, you must have started this process a long time ago, like the emotional part, anyways, and now that you’ve finally caught up on the physical side, your bodies— oh, Derek, you’re ahead of me in bond and body studies, you know this—”
Derek blinks. “You think Stiles and I— bonded before this heat.”
“Yeah. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought you were already dating. You two do couple stuff all the time! You even have like, a date night every week to do disgustingly cute things together.”
Now that Derek thinks about it, the strange empty feeling that’s been persistent for the past two weeks is gone. And the only difference is that Stiles is here, standing in front of him.
“What I was going to say,” Stiles says, voice determined, “Is that when I asked you to help me with my heat, before that, I was going to tell you that I…” he mumbles something under his breath. “And then I thought it would have been too much pressure, and weird, since you probably don’t… and then I tried again, at the end, but then you didn’t—”
“I didn’t hear what you said,” Derek says.
Stiles says it again, still inaudible. Scott elbows him.
“I LOVE YOU, OKAY!” Stiles shouts. His face is red and he clenches his fists, shaking a little, shocked by his own outburst.
“I love you too,” Derek says back, too stunned to say anything else.
Scott throws up his hands in the air. “I told you there was nothing to be worried about,” he says, rolling his eyes to Stiles.
Stiles isn’t paying attention; he just stares unabashedly at Derek.
Scott grins and steps back, shaking his head as he leaves through the window.
“You love me?” Stiles asks, eyes shining with hope.
“Absolutely. I thought— when you were asking me, after, for your next heat— that I wouldn’t be able to do it again, because it hurt so much this time, thinking I could be so close and not be able to keep you. And I do want to keep you.” Derek steps forward, once again, his heart in his throat.
“Keep me,” Stiles says, pulling Derek into a kiss.
Derek is lost to it, the warmth and happiness that floods through him, Stiles’ hands gently touching his beard, Stiles’ lips parting for Derek’s tongue, the two of them standing still in the center of a whirlwind of emotion, years of want culminating in this moment. Derek’s knees go weak and he feels undone by this simple act, and he never wants to stop.
Stiles pulls away first, panting for breath, holding onto Derek’s shoulders like he’s looking for an anchor. “That was a hell of a first kiss,” he says.
“Technically, uh, you’ve kissed me once. But you were asleep. I don’t know if that counts,” Derek offers shyly.
“I— what— oh my God, I thought that was a dream,” Stiles says. “Do you know how hard it was not to kiss you that whole weekend? I wanted to so badly.”
“Why didn’t you say so? You— you also told me you weren’t going to fall in love with me.” Derek runs his hands down Stiles’ back, a simple caress, marvelling how good this feels, both of them together on the same page.
Stiles shrugs. “That was an easy promise. I was already in love with you. I didn’t want to kiss because I thought it would be too hard to let go, after.”
“You don’t have to let go. I’ve got you.” Derek kisses him again, pours all his love and hopes for the future into it, holding Stiles close, kissing him with every tender thought he’s thought about him since he’s met.
Stiles is dazed when Derek pulls back, and a smile slowly blooms on his lips. “So baby, you still got those silk sheets?”
“For you? Of course,” Derek says. He tilts his head, considering. “Baby?”
Stiles bursts into laughter. “Okay, maybe not for you. Um. Sugar buns? Cinnamon roll? Sweetie pie? Honey?”
Derek makes a face. He doesn’t actually care what Stiles calls him, if Stiles likes it then he’ll like it but—
“Aw, don’t make such a sour face, c’mon, I want to give you a cute nickname!” Stiles laughs. “Oh man, you are a sour face, though, it’s super cute—”
Derek growls, picking Stiles up and throwing him over his shoulder.
“You absolute wolf, put me down, this isn’t— hey, sour wolf!”
“I’m thinking baby might be better,” Derek says, setting Stiles on the bed.
“Nope, can’t go back, that’s my name for you now—”
Derek kisses his mate, and then Stiles kisses back, wrapping his legs around Derek and pulling him closer, and there is no more talk of nicknames.