It wasn’t as if Stiles had meant to make his way toward the hidey-hole that Derek now ludicrously considered to be home. Sometimes feet just had a mind of their own and Stiles was not going to be held responsible for the audacious decisions of eleven stubby little toes, thank you very much. (He didn’t actually have eleven of them, though he had told a few people at school he did just for the satisfaction of them following him around the next few days requesting to see the elusive extra toe that did not truly exist. After talking it up so much, he had almost forgotten that he really only had ten.)
Normally Stiles would drive in his jeep whenever this type of wandering travel was at hand, however lately he found that his comrade was not as it once was. Now that he’d become chauffeur to any number of monthly murderous werewolves, it was increasingly more difficult to sit inside his favorite vehicle and not notice the stench that was left behind from his canine passengers. Becoming a werewolf was supposed to heighten your sense of smell, but apparently Stiles had gained contiguous werewolf abilities because everywhere he went he was more acutely aware of the way things smelled. What really seemed to be catching his attention were all these damned werewolves. No, he most certainly was not speaking about any one of them in particular and that had nothing to do with why he was walking this way -- this was entirely his feet’s fault!
Derek. The sour wolf kept worming his way into corners of Stiles’ mind that only Lydia was allowed to occupy and it was not something Stiles was comfortable with in the least. He shoved his hands deep within the pockets of his jeans, willing those unnatural thoughts to kindly fuck off because he would have nothing to do with them. Stiles was not going to spend his time bothering with some emo-riddled vagabond when he was so very close to getting somewhere with... well, with the emo-riddled love of his life. She hadn’t always been that way, though, and he wouldn’t fault her the break down after all she’d been through recently.
“Stiles,” a low voice spoke right next to his left ear. He turned toward the voice smoothly and asked in a calm manner, ‘Why yes, chap, what is it that you require of me?’ At least that’s what he would go to his grave saying that he did.
In reality, Stiles jumped at least two feet into the air and screamed, “Jesus Fuck Christ!” and landed in some sort of half turn-pirouette situation (that he would have been impressed by in any other circumstance) that twisted his ankle at a particularly painful angle when he landed back on the ground. He was only saved from going face first into the dirt by the steadying hands of Derek.
Derek, who was definitely laughing at him right now. Seriously uncouth for someone who just scared the living shit out of another person. Maybe if he didn’t go stalking around at night in dark clothes like some kind of wanna-be assassin, he wouldn’t be able to sneak up on people like that. Granted Stiles got the impression that Derek wasn’t exactly worried about appeasing anyone else’s definition of “normal human behavior” -- some major factors being that he was not: a) normal or b) human.
“Stiles, what the hell are you doing out here at this time of night?” Derek asked, releasing his hold on Stiles’ arms now that the younger man was no longer in danger of tipping over. But damn did his ankle hurt now.
“What time of night is it?” Stiles asked offhandedly, gingerly inspecting the amount of weight he could place on his now throbbing ankle. “Shit-fuck!” The answer to that question was absolutely none, he now knew.
Derek rolled his eyes overdramatically as though this situation had quite obviously put him out more than he could really afford, but he was going to do this out of the uber-grand kindness of his canine heart because that was just how damned personable he was. Yeah, right. Shouldering Stiles’ right arm, Derek snaked his left arm around the smaller man’s lean frame and began walking him toward the pack’s hideout. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I was just taking a stroll. Can’t a guy walk around the neighborhood without getting the third degree and a freakin’ permanent injury out of the deal?” Stiles huffed out an uncomfortable sounding laugh, breathing back in too much of Derek for his liking.
Derek granted him a sidelong look. “You were taking a...stroll,” he drawled out the word stroll as though he wasn’t quite sure he knew what it meant. “Right, that makes perfect sense for a sixteen-year-old kid to be doing.”
Stiles groaned. “I’m not a kid! And I’ve got a lot going on, alright? You wouldn’t even-” but he didn’t finish the sentence. There just wasn’t the space for that kind of conversation here, with Derek, as though they actually knew each other well enough to go into that realm of discussion. Derek responded with nothing more than a raised eyebrow.
Inside of the gritty hideout that Derek now called home, he drug Stiles up into the rusty bus and deposited him into one of the seats. “Stay here. Take off your shoe and I’ll get you some ice for your ankle.”
Stiles looked so shocked by this, one would think that Derek had slapped him across the face rather than offered him help. “Oh, um right - I guess I’ll just - sit here - and take off my shoe.”
Derek’s face wrinkled up in something akin to half amusement and half confusion. “Yeah...I’m going to leave now. Try not to swallow your tongue while I’m gone.”
“Haha, yeah! Swallow my tongue!” Stiles barked after Derek as he walked off the bus and then promptly smacked himself in the forehead. What the hell, Stilinski? Why are you suddenly acting like you’re twelve? He leaned down and began delicately untying his shoe to distract himself. He tugged it slowly off his heel, scrunching his face up in pain as his ankle twinged from the force. He hooked a finger in his sock and yanked it off as quickly as possible and grunted. Yes, it was definitely broken; it had to be broken to hurt this badly.
“It’s not broken, you idiot,” Derek was saying when he walked back up the steps of the bus with a ziplock bag full of ice.
Was he reading minds now too? Fuck. “Yeah well, what do you know?” Stiles asked lamely, snatching up at the ice.
Derek held it just out of Stiles’ reach. “Quite a lot, considering I’ve broken more than my share of bones. Oh, and I’ve also been shot.”
“Well, doesn’t that make you all kinds of special? Hey, what are you-” Stiles began to protest as Derek yanked the younger man off the bus bench by the calves and unceremoniously dumped him into a heap on the center aisle. Even though Stiles bruised the shit out of his tailbone when he hit the floor, Derek somehow managed not to twinge his ankle. Stupid werewolf magic.
Derek planted himself at Stiles’ feet, not even bothering to help him sit up properly. He pushed the cuff of Stiles’ jeans up his leg, hand grazing along his calf which sent chills up the young man’s back. It made him want to bang his head against the metal pole nearby for being such a fucking teenager, though Derek didn’t seem to notice. He busied himself with resting Stiles’ leg carefully atop his own knee and examining the damage that had been done by the sneak attack he’d performed outside. The ankle had swollen and looked a little purple, but other than that it wasn’t anything to write home about. In all honesty, Stiles was more preoccupied with the fact that Derek seemed so damned intent on playing doctor to his injury; it was completely bizarre. Derek ran a soft caress over the top of Stiles’ foot, ankle and halfway up his shin before lifting his hand away and pressing the cold ice against his now burning skin.
“You’ll survive,” he said, but when he spoke his voice was husky and strangled sounding. Stiles looked into his face and Derek stared back at him with a fiery intensity that he was fairly certain was going to set the whole damned bus alight. Stiles felt his heart speed up and internally groaned for it to settle down because he knew too well that Derek could hear every frantic flutter inside of his chest. Fuck werewolves and their superpowers. Fuck werewolves and their fucking scent. It was like a gas bomb went off inside the bus; a burst of aroma flooded Stiles’ senses all at once and it was all he could do not to close his eyes and enjoy taking it all in. He knew it was flowing off Derek because he had inhaled that exact scent plenty of times before quite unabashedly after Derek had vacated his jeep. It was also the reason that Stiles had exiled himself from said vehicle, because there had been a little too much sniffing and groaning to be considered innocent.
“What are you doing?” Derek asked and now his voice was strained, like he was on the verge of getting very angry - or he was holding himself severely in check.
“What the-? I’m not doing anything,” Stiles replied with only a slight squeak in his voice.
“Yes you are. You’re - you’re scenting me. Why are you doing that?” came the terse reply.
“Why am I-? Why are you - what the fuck! You’re the one that’s throwing out stink like a bitch in heat! What am I supposed to do, not smell?” Stiles threw his hands up in exasperated frustration and banged his knuckles against the metal pole. “Ugh!”
“That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do, because you’re human, Stiles. You shouldn’t be able to scent me.” Derek spoke in slow, concise sentences as though he might just lose his shit if he happened to raise his voice even the slightest bit. Stiles really hoped that was not the case, because he would rather get out of this with just a broken ankle and not a ripped out jugular.
Derek decided to abandon the ankle doctoring, because this pheromone business was apparently much more important to him - or at least more interesting. He pushed Stiles’ leg over so it fell on the floor of the bus and sat up on his knees. He raised a brow at Stiles, calculating his next move before making it, then leaned forward and stuck his nose right in the crook of Stiles’ neck without even so much as a ‘how do you do?’
There were a couple of instantaneous reactions from Stiles to this brazen move: 1) Stiles hauled off and smacked Derek upside the head (he would like to say it was a reaction of primal instinct, but truly he jumped from terror and that was where his hand happened to land) and 2) Stiles fell backwards on the floor after that and clocked the back of his head cleanly against the old lighting row on the side of the aisle. “For fuck’s sake, Derek, what the hell?”
“Are you at all capable of holding still for two damned seconds, Stiles?” Derek replied, like he was speaking to an annoying five-year-old who was misbehaving in daycare. Most kids weren’t getting sniffed like that in daycare, so Stiles believed he deserved more credit than what Derek was allowing him for that reaction.
“Not when there are lethal werewolf teeth pointed right at crucial arteries, no I am not!” Stiles replied in what he will continue to state was definitely not a total freak out.
Derek would beg to differ. “I’m not going to kill you, Stiles. Just be still and stop talking.” Now that Stiles was lying on his back on the floor, Derek loomed over him even more, placing one knee between the 'V' of Stiles’ legs and one hand on either side of his head so he could hover over the younger man and look down into his face with a curious once over.
"You smell like...curly fries," Derek mentioned as he passed his nose dangerously close over Stiles' mouth.
"Arby's - best in the world, what can I say?" Stiles replied automatically. He wanted to say that the proximity of Derek and this configuration of their bodies didn't affect him, but his voice betrayed this by jumping up about two octaves.
Derek raised his brow at this development, silently asking a question that Stiles was fairly certain was a challenge: 'Do I make you nervous?'
The answer, of course, was: 'Yes. Absolutely yes, with those intensely staring eyes and sharpened teeth and that knee that is dangerously close to my junk right now. A million times yes.’ He tried his hardest not to convey any of this to Derek, however, because he didn’t want to be seen as the pathetic little sixteen-year-old who couldn’t handle a little closeness with a dark, handsome werewolf who just happened to be creepily sniffing him all over. Stiles moved his head a little to the left so it wasn’t still resting on the aisle lights and tried to stare Derek down without pissing himself. So far he was at least not doing that, which was a win in his book.
Derek passed over his face and went back to the neck and inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly against Stiles’ skin. The effect was like a jolt of electricity shot through the whole of Stiles’ body; he visibly shivered but then his skin felt hot all over. He didn’t hit Derek this time, however one hand did end up on Derek’s shoulder somehow, twisted in the fabric of his sweater.
The contact seemed to make some kind of impact, because suddenly Derek’s face was above him again and his eyes were glowing bright blue. (Stiles had to admit that he preferred the blue over the red, even though the unfortunate side effect of that was having Peter back as the Alpha.) “How is it that you can scent me?” he asked again, voice a low growl that sounded weirdly possessive.
Stiles gave him a sarcastically quizzical look at this point because, really, that’s what he was going with right now? Way to ruin a moment, dude. Wait, what? He shook his head fiercely to try and get rid of those thoughts completely. “I told you, I don’t know, alright? I just do. It’s been like that for a while. I can smell a lot of things a lot more clearly, but you werewolves especially. Scott smells like dogs mostly, Isaac smells like freezer burn, Erica smells like a hospital, Boyd smells like the ice rink, Jackson reeks of sweat and some terrible aftershave (too much time with Danny, I guess), and you...” he trailed off because it was easier to talk about the others than it was to tell Derek to his face.
“What do I reek of, Stiles?” Derek pushed him, still staring down at him with that same stony gaze.
“Your scent is stronger...and it’s - it’s different. Probably because you weren’t turned? I don’t know. You smell like burnt wood, like the woods after it has rained, leather - a lot of leather, dirt, the city - which apparently stinks pretty badly because seriously, it reeks on you, the ocean, blood...” Stiles began to trail off when he noticed Derek’s breathing getting more laborious above him. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that he reeked like New York? Or maybe it was totally creepy that Stiles could tick off a half-dozen things that Derek smelled like without really thinking about it. It was probably both.
Derek’s eyebrow quirked a bit when Stiles quit naming things. “Is that it?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Uh...no, not really. But y’know, at this point I couldn’t sound any weirder so I think I’m about done. Are you...about done?” Stiles asked uncomfortably, shifting underneath Derek until he realized that had been an extremely terrible idea. Derek’s knee came into direct contact with his junk and Stiles let out an unfortunately high pitched whimper because apparently he’d become hard at some point during this exchange and now he’d really just like to turn over and die, if that was alright with everyone involved.
But no, it wasn’t alright with Derek, apparently. Those eyes staring down at him flashed brilliantly blue again and Stiles saw a flash of pointed teeth for about a half of a second before Derek was on him, all lips and teeth. Stiles could have said that he was shocked but at this point he’d lost the ability to be surprised by anything Derek did because that’s basically all the werewolf was capable of was pulling stunts that made absolutely no sense to Stiles anymore. Better to just roll with the punches now than question his own sanity, which let’s face it - he’d lost that a few months ago when his best friend was bitten by a werewolf and Stiles was the one to figure it out. This was now his life, apparently, so go figure.
It wasn’t exactly an immediate reaction from Stiles because he’d never kissed a guy (and truthfully he’d barely ever kissed a girl either, if spin the bottle actually counted), but it wasn’t as bad as one might expect it to be, considering that it was - well, a guy. Derek had some prickly stubble that grazed against Stiles’ chin and upper lip, but it really didn’t seem to bother him overly much once he got used to it. Getting used to it meant kissing back, which is what he was now doing. This prised an even more forceful reaction from Derek, who pressed the length of himself atop Stiles’ body, somehow still careful not to hit the swollen ankle (how was that possible?). The werewolf pressed a hand against the side of Stiles’ face, his thumb somewhere near the vicinity of Stiles’ left eye, and in his peripheral he was fairly certain he saw an elongated fingernail sitting dangerously close to the soft tissue that was his cornea. In a second or two it was gone, though, so he could have imagined it.
After only a few minutes of kissing and a lot more teeth on the werewolf’s part, Derek was pulling away from Stiles and he felt an acute pang of worry and a knowing stab of rejection in the pit of his stomach. Yeah, this was definitely that point where the other person came to his senses and realized how utterly stupid he was for getting anywhere near someone like Stiles.
“Sit up,” Derek said quietly as he sat up himself and was going through the motion that Stiles’ brain took much too long to process as the action of pulling his sweater over his head.
All Stiles could really do was balk at him, because he was stuck between his past experience of rejection and the expanse of skin that was now staring him in the face. “Uh...what?”
Derek rolled his eyes. He grabbed Stiles by the shirt and lifted him off the bus floor, then proceeded to strip him of his shirts. Stiles was still a bit too dazed to react and just allowed it to happen, but it really hit him when he was pressed back against the floor and Derek’s mouth was - “Oh fuck.” Wait, did he just say that out loud? Fuck shit!
Stiles felt that same mouth turn into a smirk against his skin, but then it went back to it’s previous occupation of circling around Stiles’ right nipple like some kind of vacuum on the setting of pleasure. He was certain that there had to be a werewolf power that made it feel so damned amazing because no human was capable of doing such a thing. Derek was breathing heavily against Stiles’ skin and while it could have been caused by what he was doing, the young man began to notice that the werewolf was still smelling him. He was apparently obsessed with this sniffing thing (was it the canine in him?) because as he licked a trail from Stiles’ nipple up to his throat, he was still scenting every inch of pale skin. Stiles would love to say that he didn’t fall to pieces underneath Derek, but it was better to just stop lying to himself about his supposed masculinity and let dead dogs lie (pun absolutely intended). So the truth was that Stiles was squirming like a five-year-old waiting to receive candy (fucking amazing candy) from Daddy for being a good little girl today and he was no longer ashamed to admit it. He bared his neck to give Derek all the damned access he needed to that pulsing vein, and the werewolf seemed to find it amazing that he could both hear and feel the blood rush through it under the thin flesh of Stiles’ neck. He kissed it with the utmost tenderness before swiping across it with his tongue and making his way toward the adam's apple which he sucked on, eliciting a moan and a shameful buck of the hips from the teenager.
Betrayal from your own body was completely unforgivable and Stiles would have considered that moment his lowest if it hadn’t brought Derek’s mouth back to his own in a clumsy kiss of sharp teeth and wet saliva. If Stiles didn’t know any better, he would think that Derek was actually enjoying this too, but he had to just have some kind of twisted agenda here, right? Derek’s hips pressed down against Stiles’, their erections crushing together in heated passion and they both moaned this time.
And then Derek was gone again, licking his way down Stiles’ chin, down his neck and the middle of his chest, then he was tangling his tongue through small tufts of hair before dipping down into a belly button and sucking around it. There came that deep breathing again, and now Derek was fumbling with the button on Stiles’ jeans and wait a second...
“Uh...” was about all he could manage while his brain caught up with the situation. Derek stopped immediately and looked up at him from his perch between Stiles’ legs, which made thought even more difficult than it already was. “Are you really gonna...” he trailed off, waving down at his lower body as though this completed the sentence perfectly. A blush crept up his cheeks even without saying the words.
Stiles was pretty certain he saw an eye roll somewhere in there. “Not if you don’t want me to,” was what was said, though, and Derek’s hands came to rest on exposed hips, rubbing small circles with padded thumbs.
For some ungodly and unfair reason, Stiles felt his dick jump involuntarily in the silence after this declaration. Of course Derek noticed it and of course he raised an eyebrow up at Stiles questioningly. “Well - I mean - yeah - yeah, of course, I do - I just - I haven’t really...” and now he was blushing even more because he was having to confess that he was a virgin and that made him feel like a complete and total idiot.
Derek leaned down and kissed Stiles on the stomach, then slowly began to lick and nip at him until Stiles lay his head back on the floor with a small moan. “Don’t worry about it, Stiles,” he said against the younger man’s stomach and now he was undoing the button of the jeans and unzipping them and holy fuck this was it. He felt his thighs shaking unreasonably and he might honestly be having a god-damned panic attack right now. Derek could no doubt tell what was happening and suddenly there he was, lying on top of Stiles again, nose and mouth nuzzled in the crook of Stiles’ neck. “Just relax,” he heard the werewolf breathe into his neck and there was more kissing on the neck and the chin and now it was the mouth again and Stiles was starting to get used to that. He was really beginning to like the shape of Derek’s mouth against his own and the taste of him along with the smell of him, because somehow those two were not mutually exclusive. Stiles was able to taste the wood and the city and the dirt on him just as easily as he could scent it. In any other situation it would be unnerving, but right now it had more of a grounding effect, because these things were familiar to him in that they were all Derek.
Now that he was relaxed, it seemed, Derek was able to return to the task at hand. Namely removing the rest of his clothing, which he was able to do in record time and again without bumping against the ankle which Stiles had actually forgotten about. And then there was that nose, pressed against Stiles exposed inner thigh, doing nothing more than taking in the scent of the body beneath it. It was no longer strange, though Stiles wasn’t certain if he could only attest that to the proximity of nose to dick. Now it just felt alluring, like he was being put to memory by this man, and he moaned as Derek’s warm breath inched ever closer to his aching erection.
Stiles had to admit that the first thing he expected Derek to do was definitely not what Derek did. That is to say that burying his face underneath Stiles’ balls was definitely not on the list of all-time-mind-blowing first-time oral sex items, if Stiles were to have such a list, which he did not (he really did). As surprised by it as he was, he was also strangely aroused, because believe it or not, being sniffed by someone in your most private of areas was pretty weirdly intimate and the fact that Derek would want to do so willingly was what made it all the more enticing. There were better things in the world, though, and Stiles was made privy to them rather quickly after that. Derek’s tongue ran up over Stiles’ balls and curved perfectly around the base of his cock, which he then rode all the way to the tip with a slow, slurping suction.
“Holy Fuck.” Stiles had masturbated plenty of times in his life and it was safe to say that none of it (not even with the best of fantasies concocted in his head) lived up to this. His hips bucked up immediately as the tongue was on him and there was really nothing to be done for it. He reached out absentmindedly for something to hold onto and gripped his fingers around the cool metal of the pole he’d hit earlier. Pre-cum drizzled from the tip of his cock and Derek smirked up at him, though Stiles was staring at the top of the bus and had yet to even try looking down his way. The werewolf pressed a firm hand into one of Stiles’ hips to keep him steady against the floor of the bus and then encircled his lips over the tip of the cock, sucking once and then licking a circle around it before taking it deeper into his mouth.
The younger man was attempting to buck off the floor wildly, so it was a good thing Derek had a strong hold on him. Shaky moans were falling from his mouth, along with a few random expletives and every now and then Derek’s name. That tongue and mouth and even those teeth - they were experts at their craft. Derek worked up and down him like he had already done it hundreds of times before, taking Stiles all the way into his mouth, without any noticeable choking involved, and pulling him back out to tease his tip with tongue and nipping teeth. He licked up one side and down the other, encircled a tight ring around Stiles with his thumb and forefinger and pumped him while nipping and licking at Stiles’ inner thighs. Then he was pushing both of Stiles’ knees up and spreading his legs apart and Stiles was completely fine with it as he was in a drunken stupor of desire until -
“Holy shit! What was that?” Derek stopped doing whatever it was that he had been doing and Stiles looked down at him finally, which did not really make anything clearer for him. “What the hell? Did you just...?”
“Yes,” is all that Derek said, because further explanation seemed to be unneeded. “Do you want me to stop?”
Stiles felt like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. On the one hand he couldn’t deny that what had been done felt good, but on the other it was the sheer idea of what it was that continued to bother him. “I-I’m not sure,” he replied honestly, scrubbing his face and looking anywhere but Derek’s face.
“Then I won’t do it,” came the easy reply and the pressure released but everything felt awkward and tense and Stiles felt stupid.
“I’m sorry,” he said automatically, because now he’d fucked it all up and this was really humiliating.
“No, you didn’t do anything, I did. I crossed the line. I’m sorry.”
“Fuuuck, no, Derek. You didn’t cross the line, I just - I wasn’t ready for it and I didn’t know - it just surprised me. I didn’t realize that...itcouldactuallyfeelgood.” He thought he’d mumbled the last bit quietly and quickly enough that it wouldn’t be audible.
“Oh.” He had forgotten he was with a werewolf. Dammit. “Well, do you want me to...?”
“You mean I haven’t totally murdered the mood already?” Stiles asked with a forced laugh.
His answer was a flash of blue eyes. Alrighty then, mood officially declared undead.
Stiles actually watched this time as Derek descended on him and it was made all the more ludicrous by Derek feeling the need to keep eye contact as he lowered his mouth over Stiles’ erection to watch for the reactions he was able to get from the younger man once his lips were wrapped around it. Stiles tried to watch for a while and he kept seeing Derek’s eyes flash brilliant blue and go dim again as they stared each other down, but eventually it was just too much for Stiles and his head hit the floor with an audible thud. He let out a lingering moan and he could have sworn he heard a growl from Derek, but maybe he was just hearing things now.
Growl or not, he was going for that uncharted territory again, but at least Stiles was ready for it this time. Derek’s tongue skimmed around Stiles’ hole a few times, then his mouth was wet all around it and his tongue slipped inside. Stiles, for all intents and purposes, came undone. Derek had to hold his hips down firmly with one arm and was now using that free hand to slowly pump up and down Stiles’ length while he pushed in and out of his hole with a very talented tongue. It would be unfortunate that Stiles couldn’t handle this for too long because he would have liked to stay this way forever, if he had his way. But it was a bit of sensory overload, so after a few minutes he was bucking his hips wildly and proclaiming aloud, “Derek, fuck, I’m gonna-” and that was that.
Stiles felt his seed spilling all over Derek’s hand and his stomach, though he was fortunate enough not to have shot himself in the face this time, so he was thankful for the small victories. Derek continued to work his hand up and down Stiles’ erection as he orgasmed, helping him ride it out and prolonging it as much as he possibly could until it was too much for Stiles to handle and he had to put his hand over Derek’s to get him to stop. He was only vaguely aware of Derek hovering over his stomach and the intake of breath he made, inhaling the scent of his come which probably had the most distinct smell of anything else Derek had scented on him tonight (and now Stiles needed to know what Derek’s come smelled like to get the full picture).
He lay there waiting for his labored breathing to dissipate, while Derek moved up his body some only to dip his head and take a taste of some of the come on Stiles’ chest. This was definitely surprising, but Stiles was still too dazed to be too vocal about it.
“You taste like you smell,” Derek said and nuzzled into Stiles’ neck again.
“Really?” Stiles asked and then regretted what came out of his mouth next. “Like curly fries?”
Derek laughed. “That’s not all, but a little.”
“I think you’re high, dude. I tasted it before and it didn’t taste anything like curly fries.”
He couldn’t see Derek’s face, but he had the distinct impression that more eye-rolling was happening. “I have heightened senses, remember?”
“Oh, right. Super werewolf come-tasting powers. I had forgotten.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I’m not the one tasting the idiot. I think I’m doing better in this situation.”
Derek was covering his face. “You really never shut up, do you?”
“Not really. You’re regretting the tasting of the idiot now, aren’t you?”
Stiles was fairly certain he was blushing again. He lifted his head to look at Derek, who still had his hand over his face. “Really?”
The werewolf uncovered his face and looked him in the eyes. “Yes, really.”
“Oh,” was the brilliance that Stiles came up with to that reply and let his head fall back against the floor again.
Derek propped his head up with his elbow and stared down at him. “I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want to, Stiles.”
“Yeah I, uh - I get it,” he said, looking at Derek’s shoulder rather than his face. This whole confession after orgasm thing was a little too much for him, especially when he didn’t truly believe it.
Derek shook his head and leaned down to kiss Stiles, which was a good way to distract him from feeling like an idiot. This part he enjoyed and would respond to easily enough, even if he didn’t respond well to the verbal declarations. Stiles smiled into the kiss and wrapped his arm around Derek’s neck and tugged him down, turning them over so that Stiles was atop him. Derek pushed up on Stiles’ chest and shook his head. “You don’t need to do this, Stiles.”
“Huh?” Stiles wasn’t really sure what he meant by that.
“I don’t want you to feel obligated to do this. To do something you might not be ready for.”
Understanding began to flood into him, but more-so was rejection. He ducked his head. “You don’t want me to?” he asked softly.
“That’s not what I said at all. Why do you think you’re so unwanted?”
“Because I am.”
“That’s not true, Stiles. I’m not the only one who thinks so either. But since I’m here, just believe that I want this. That I have wanted you for a while.”
Stiles’ heart started beating a little faster. He hadn’t really expected to hear any of that. He felt like a twelve-year-old girl when he asked, “Seriously?”
There was a long pause, where Stiles just sat straddling Derek with his palms resting on Derek’s chest, looking down at the expanse of skin below him. Finally Stiles said, “Derek?”
“I want to do this.”
Derek’s reply was becoming a rather common one: a bright flash of blue eyes and a low growl in the back of his throat. It was something that Stiles could get used to trying to entice from him.