Dereka goes from kissing him to sitting back, sinking down and goddamnit, it's so good, he'll never get used to how good this feels. How good it looks: her long, lean, olive-skinned body, dark hair fisted in her hands or spilling over her shoulders, eyes flickering between human and wolf but always, always, dark and hungry for him.
His hands are clutching at her hips as she rocks and he starts to bite his lip, like he always does, like he has to if he wants to keep any semblance of dignity... but it hurts because his lifestyle, it isn't the safest, okay? Werewolves and hunters and lacrosse, oh my! He's got a split lip right now (courtesy of Jackson, this time), and since he doesn't actually like the taste of blood, thanks, biting it and aggravating the wound is out of the question.
Which means -
“Oh god, fuck, Dereka, you feel so good,” Stiles gasps.
She jerks a little, a sudden hitch in the rhythm she'd been building.
His eyes narrow, focusing on her face as much as he can when he's being overwhelmed by sheer awesome. She's staring at him, her eyes just the smallest bit wider than usual. He thrusts up a little and she bears down on him automatically. He really can't help babbling, “Jesus-fuck, yes, like that, god!”
“Stiles,” she says, and her voice is just husky enough that he can't tell if it's a moan or a growl. Her hands have come down from her head, releasing her hair to brace against his shoulders. He can feel a faint prickle against his skin, which means her claws are coming out: that could be arousal or anger, the two are extremely easy to confuse on Dereka.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says, even though he's totally not, “you're just so hot, and you're all sloppy-wet today -”
She fucking whines, eyes clenching shut, hands tightening on him and, best of all, he can feel a faint fluttering of her muscles around his cock. It makes him thrust up even harder and that, in turn, makes her clench even more.
“You like this! You like hearing me talk!”
“No, I don -”
Stiles lifts his head a little, staring deep into her eyes (solid red, now): “I can feel it, you know, I can feel exactly how much you like it. Fuck, Dereka, you're shaking,” he tells her, and she is, just a little. Her eyes are wide, like she's never seen him before.
And he can feel her getting wetter around him.
He sits up fast, tipping her backward. The only reason he gets away with it is that it's a total surprise, to him and to her. It's a complete reversal of their usual position, which is funny because it's really pretty vanilla: they're in what's considered standard missionary, but it's utterly new to Stiles. She's under him, head only a little cushioned by the bunched up sheets that had been shoved to the foot of his bed by their earlier foreplay. He thrusts forward once, twice, testing the new angle and making her suck in a few deep breaths.
“Stiles,” she says again, and this time it's a warning.
“Just relax, Dereka,” he croons, and feels her shudder around him, “gonna take care of you, gonna make you feel so good. You're so hot, you know? Like, unbelievably hot, and maybe I don't say it enough because it's so obvious. But still, nothing is hotter than seeing you, like this.” He braces his hands to either side of her shoulders and pushes himself up a little so that he can watch himself fucking into her, watch her taking him in. “God, Dereka, you have no idea how hot it is watching you want me, seeing how hot you get for me.”
Now she's biting her lip, her hands are clutching fistfuls of bedspread above her head and he has seriously never seen anything hotter than this. He's not sure how long this can last, because it's seriously blowing his goddamn mind. He pushes his hips into hers hard and fast and turns off all verbal filters.
He doesn't even know what he's saying at this point, but it's obvious from the little, involuntary signs Dereka's showing: bitten lip, glazed eyes, heaving breaths, and the sound of his sheets tearing (hard to explain but so worth it) that whatever it is is totally doing it for her. Not that that was in question given the absolutely merciless grip her pussy has on his cock.
“God, fuck, Dereka, swear to god sometimes it feels like you're trying to swallow me whole, dick first.”
She's whimpering now, head tossing side-to-side: “Stiles, please!”
He can tell she's close, and usually he'd be using his mouth on her breasts by now and he hates to deprive them of their due attention, but... this – the talking thing - is really an avenue that needs to be fully explored, and he's distracted, so distracted by her and this and everything else they're doing. That's his excuse, that's the only reason he does what he does.
“Touch yourself,” he orders, “I wanna watch you come.”
Her back bows hard, but she's actually doing what he said and watching her hands slide over her skin, watching one roll and pluck at one dark nipple while the other dives down for her curls, now absolutely fucking drenched, pushes him right over the edge.
Everything is a blur of motion and sounds and he's not even sure what's happening, he's just focused on holding on until she gets hers and then he feels it, hears it: she arches so hard she nearly throws him off and honest-to-god howls when she finally comes, clenching down on him so hard he would probably fear losing his favorite appendage if he wasn't busy having the most epic orgasm of his life.
When he comes back to himself he's sprawled half over her, half on the bed, and they're both still panting like marathon runners.
Stiles pushes himself up a little, staring down at her in wonder and surprise.
Dereka's eyes are still shut, but she looks - jesus - she looks completely boneless and there's a tiny smile on her lips.
“You like it,” he breathes out. “You like it when I talk.”
She cracks open one eye (hazel again) to glare at him, “No, I don't.”
Stiles immediately slides one hand between her thighs and slips two fingers inside her. Her legs lock tight together, trapping his hand exactly where it is, but he just scissors his fingers a little, feeling how wet she is while she glares at him – an expression that loses some of its potency since he can also hear her breathing speed up.
“See, now, I was glovin' for your lovin,' so this? This is all you. Your lips say no, but you're fucking soaked, Der.”
She makes a little sound when he says 'soaked' and Stiles smiles like the cat that got the canary.
Or the human teen who got the horny werewolf girlfriend.
(Yeah, okay, the original sounds better.)
She's starting to move again, hips shifting on the bed, but he keeps twisting his fingers back and forth.
“Don't start something you can't finish,” she warns.
“Well, see, that's the thing about this mouth,” he responds, moving over to rest fully between her legs again, “it's not just good for talking...”