“Don’t forget.” Jordan presses a small bullet-sized case into Derek’s hand, the jingle of pills within it audible.
Derek holds his palm flat, looks down at the silver case and frowns. “Won’t need it. I’m not going to take the drugs, Jordan, just find them.” Although if they do try to force pills down his throat, these placebos are his failsafe. The last thing he wants to do is take drugs to force a simulated heat, not with three unwanted pregnancies and six deaths already on record. If it comes to that, all he needs is sleight of hand.
“Just in case.” Jordan pats him on the back, then stands back, arms crossed. “Wouldn’t be a good partner if I didn’t have your back,” he says. Derek feels half-naked under his gaze, knows he looks ridiculous with a too small t-shirt stretched across his chest, and jeans so tight they feel painted on. “Commando?” Jordan asks.
Derek grumbles a reply, nodding.
“You won’t be wearing a wire, so you’re going to need to rely on memory,” Jordan reminds him. “And I’m going to be just outside the building. You say the word, and I’ll come in to make the bust.” He taps his jaw as if Derek needs to be reminded about their subcutaneous implants for communication. They both have one, just under the back of the jaw and a little behind the left ear. Even the faintest of sounds transmits perfectly to the other, as long as it’s activated first.
Derek’s pretty sure that his is going to remain silent for most of this op.
“I’m a terrible choice for a porn star,” Derek mutters, crossing his arms as if that’ll make the outfit better.
Jordan laughs. “You’re a perfect choice. Built like a god and single. I’d go in myself, but you know Lydia would have my head if I even looked at another guy. Besides, they’re looking for an Alpha for today’s shoot, and I don’t fit that description.”
Jordan’s the perfect Omega to Lydia’s Alpha gene; Derek knows that well. He knows they can’t change roles today, but it doesn’t stop him from needing to take a little time to get into character and be ready for this. It’s only sex, after all. It’s not as if they’re going to ask him to breed whatever little Omega they bring out. He’s seen plenty of gay knotting porn, and those Omegas aren’t his type. He’s hoping that if it comes down to actual sex, he’s even going to be able to get his knot going.
“You’ve got this.” Jordan pats his chest, then nudges him toward the rear of the van. “Go find us some drug trafficking, and hey, even if you don’t, have a good fuck. You could use a chance to unwind a little. How long has it been?”
Derek’s only answer is a silent middle finger; Jordan knows damned well it’s been years.
“How old are you?” Derek stares at the boy in front of him. He’s not small, which is good. In fact, they’re eye to eye, but the Omega’s face is round, his cheeks just starting to gain sharpness from adulthood, and his build is rangy and slender. He knows that he has to be at least eighteen, but he still looks like he’s young.
“Twenty.” He tilts his head, amber eyes sharp. “What are you, thirty-five? And I’m Stiles. I have a name, this isn’t some kind of D/s kink, it’s just pure knotting, so use it. I’m not baby, breeder, or any other ‘affectionate’ name your peanut Alpha brain can come up with. Just Stiles.”
“Twenty-six, and it’s Derek,” Derek snaps back. “And trust me, my knot is going to be enough. You won’t need anything else.”
Stiles grins and Derek’s world tilts off-kilter at the way that grin kicks him in the gut with a sudden burst of hunger and a need to claim. He inhales, tasting cinnamon on the air, and he leans closer to Stiles, burrowing his face against his throat.
“Whoa, whoa.” Stiles gets his hands at Derek’s jawline, strokes down his neck and Derek doesn’t care that this Omega is touching his neck. He just wants to taste, so he does, managing to lick a tiny patch of skin before Stiles shoves him away, eyes wide at first, then narrowing.
“One, no, not without being in front of the camera,” Stiles says. “And two, you and I need to talk. Right now.” Stiles grabs Derek’s shirt and drags him away, waving at the cameraman who is coming into the room. “Taking him off to see the fluffer!” he calls out, and the cameraman grunts and ignores them on the way by.
Stiles pushes Derek into a side room and closes the door behind him. Derek can’t stop staring at him, at the thin shirt that stretches across his narrow chest, pushed out by two puffed nipples. He reaches out, drags his fingers across one of them, and Stiles makes a low choked noise before he grips Derek’s wrist. “Not yet.” The words are still quick but not nearly as sharp, and Derek smirks.
He’s getting to him. They’re just in the same room, but Stiles is responding to him, Omega to Alpha. Perfect.
“What unit are you?” Stiles asks, and it’s like a splash of cold water.
“What… what?” Derek blinks, slowly pulling his hand away, taking a step to put space between them.
“What unit are you?” Stiles enunciates each word clearly, his voice low and careful. “I’m Redding PD, and I’ve come down to chase after a known perp who is distributing tainted drugs in the Beacon Hills area. My department has been in contact with local PD.” Stiles lets his fingers drift over the place where Derek’s communicator is, the tiny bump almost invisible unless someone else is a cop, knows what to look for. “So who the hell are you?”
“Beacon County Sheriff’s Department.” Which isn’t local PD in that it’s not Beacon Hills, but it’s the county that the town is part of. They have oversight. “No one mentioned someone else undercover here.”
Stiles snorts softly. “Probably because I’ve been here a month and no one wants to admit that there’s a guy having a blast making sex tapes while undercover. Honestly. There are going to be at least a dozen videos out there with my face on it, which means that every time I go undercover after this I run the risk of someone thinking I look like a porn star.”
“You are a porn star,” Derek points out.
“And after today, you will be too, unless we make the bust and you keep the video from going public.” Stiles runs his finger down Derek’s chest. “Because they are expecting us on set, and that means your knot is mine.”
“Do you even have backup?” Derek asks, nostrils flaring as he catches cinnamon again, and an underlying hint of vanilla and cocoa and caffeine. There’s a rush of adrenalin that leaves his fingers shaking, and a spike of want down his spine.
As it turns out, getting his knot up is not likely to be a problem.
“Cameraman, but not the one for this shoot. Today we’ve got Ennis, who just happens to be the guy I’m pretty sure I’m after.” Stiles motions at Derek’s crotch. “Speaking of, get it out and make sure you’re hard. If Ennis thinks we’ve been fluffed, we’d better be ready to go as soon as we get on set.”
“Already done.” Derek is frankly harder than he’s been in ages, and all just from smelling Stiles’s scent. It has to be Stiles’s scent—it followed them in here—but he can’t identify why it’s getting to him. Just that he needs to taste it, lick it… that he’s more than ready to plunder Stiles with or without the camera on them. If this didn’t have anything to do with a job, he’d still want to take him, sooner rather than later.
Stiles has his hand on his own crotch, eyes closed as he strokes himself through his loose sweats. Derek can see the rough outline of his cock tenting against the fabric, and smells a fresh rush of cinnamon. He must make a noise, because Stiles looks up at him, amber eyes wide. “I’m going to be naked for the start of the shoot,” he says. “I’ll be stripping you, then blowing you, and then you’ll fuck me. How we do that part is up to us as long as we follow the script on the way there.”
“And how do we use this to trap Ennis?” Because there is a tiny part of Derek’s brain still able to focus on the op and he has to ask.
Stiles’s tongue darts out as he licks his lips. “The boss told him to give me something to simulate heat. They want me to lock you. There’s just one problem.” The vanilla notes flare, underlined sharply by a deep chocolate scent. “I’m already wet. Like… heat levels of wet. Which wasn’t part of the plan for today.”
Heat. That explains everything.
Derek does his best to keep control while there is a part of his brain insisting my Omega, claim him now. “When was your heat due?”
“Two months from now.” Stiles’s tone is flat. “That’s why I got this job. I like sex, it doesn’t bother me to do it with strangers or on camera, and I was safe from an actual heat which would inspire them to try to drug me. Then you walk in and I’m fucking triggered.”
Derek closes his eyes, makes the mistake of inhaling to try to center himself and instead Stiles floods his senses. “Fuck,” he whispers.
“Yeah. That.” Stiles glances down, eyes raking over Derek’s crotch. “I don’t think you need the drugs either.”
“What do we do then?” His brain isn’t helpful, a low undertone of fuck fuck fuck running through his mind. He has contingencies in place to avoid an induced heat but absolutely no way to deal with all the risks a real heat implies, and he isn’t ready to be a father. Derek steadies his breath, refuses to reach for Stiles and pull him closer. He can do this. He can maintain control.
A small smile flickers. “We play it by ear,” Stiles says. “We go in there, and we lay down the best goddamned knotting video they’ve ever seen, and we hope they give themselves away and Scott comes in to make the bust before the video gets uploaded and goes live.”
“Or Jordan.” Derek takes one finger, slides it along the underside of Stiles’s jaw, seeking out the tiny nub that is where his communicator is implanted. “If something starts happening, I’ll activate yours, you activate mine. Easy to do.”
“Mm. Very easy. They won’t even notice.” Stiles cradles Derek’s jaw, fingertips pressing lightly but not quite enough to activate it. He leans close, breath ghosting against Derek’s lips, and he smiles slowly. They are the picture of the perfect kiss, tension bleeding between them.
Yeah. They really don’t look like cops.
Stiles exhales and Derek leans in, tasting the warmth, catching the depth of the vanilla, heady and warm. Stiles backs away before Derek can capture him, a smile quirking his lips. “Not outside of the studio, dude.” He yanks open the door, and Derek feels exposed, more naked than if he were stripped bare. “Let’s go get it on.”
When they enter the studio, there’s a woman there, tapping one exceedingly long fingernail against the table. Her sour expression turns to a sharp smile as soon as they enter. “Stiles. And…” she glances at the sheet, “Derek. Our alpha for the night who will hopefully perform better than the last one we hired. Limp dicks do not sell views, nor do narrow knots.” She flicks her fingers at him. “Let me see what you’re packing.”
“If I get it out now, it’s not going back in for him to strip me,” Derek says dryly. It isn’t him being shy, and it certainly isn’t a lie. His jeans are so tight that his cock is trapped while hard, pressed against his inner thigh. It’s fucking uncomfortable, and he can’t imagine trying to get it back into that same position while still hard. Instead he twists his hips, makes sure she can see the ridge. “Trust me, it’s visible without me being naked.”
She comes in close, palms his crotch then presses the heel of her hand along his length, fingers curling around the head when she finds it. “Very nice. Of course, I can’t see your knot, which could still be disappointing, but we’ll hope that this time the agency has properly vetted the quality of the talent they’ve sent.”
Her nostrils flare as she turns her attention to Stiles. “And you seem like you’re prepared as well. Now, remember, there is no necessary dialogue. Chat each other up. Make this seem real. You,” she taps Derek’s chest. “You are here to help an old friend through his heat. You expect to knot him—you know he needs it. We will pause as many times as we need to, and if there are issues locking,” she bestows a faint glare upon Stiles, “we will handle it at the time.”
“How do you handle a failure to lock?” Derek asks the question even though Stiles gives him a look. He manages to sound completely bewildered, and the woman just laughs.
“Don’t worry, it’s not your problem. Just get ready for the best sex of your life. And if you have any concern about coming before you are directed to, don’t.” Her smile goes wide, a strange parody of pleasant. “My name is Kali, and I’ll be overseeing and directing. Keep an eye on the screens; they will tell you what to do or change, because we don’t want my voice destroying the illusion. Ennis will be on the camera. Ignore him. You may realize that he is pushing the lens into uncomfortable places. Just keep doing what you’re doing and pretend he isn’t there. And again, do not come before you are directed to do so. If there is a danger of that happening, again, tell me. We will take care of it.”
Derek has the strangest urge to cover his dick, protect it from whatever the hell they want to do to it.
“Don’t worry, we’ll only come on command.” Stiles twists a finger into one of Derek’s belt loops, starts tugging him towards the bed. “We’ll be fine, Kali. Just get the camera rolling and we’ll take it from here.”
This is happening.
This is really fucking happening.
Derek inhales, lets Stiles’s pheromones invade his senses. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ennis with his hand held up, fingers spread. One finger falls, then another, and another, until he makes a fist instead, and points at them.
The camera is rolling.
“Hey, I’m glad you could come.” Stiles’s voice is ragged, his t-shirt still on but askew, sweats hanging low on his hips. “I don’t think I could do this alone. Might be the worst heat I’ve ever had.”
“I’ll take care of you.” It’s a line. It’s a story. But it’s also a promise, because Derek can see the sweat starting to bead on Stiles’s forehead, can feel the heat emanating from his body. “You’re wearing too many clothes.” If it were real, he’d say let me lock the door, let me get you a drink. But he can see a water bottle on the side table, perfect for taking care of a needy Omega, the straw peeking out of the open top. The place is set up as if he’s already been here, as if he hasn’t just found Stiles in heat.
Derek cups the nape of his neck, scruffs him lightly as he reaches out with his other hand. He just barely got a fingertip on one of those nipples before, and now he can do anything he wants. Now they are his, and Stiles wants this. There’s nothing to stop him.
The shirt is so thin that he can clearly see the outline of each nipple, the way it puffs slightly, the tip going turgid when Derek rubs it through the shirt with his thumb. Stiles whines softly, and Derek does it again, pinching lightly. The coffee scent intensifies, and Derek quickly spins Stiles around, yanks him back against his chest so he can bury his face in his shoulder and throat. He nips as he brings both hands up over his shirt, teases at his nipples, toying with them as Stiles rocks back against him.
“Fuck, I’m so sensitive.”
Derek has no idea if that’s for the camera or for real, but he loves every whimper that he hears, no matter the reason. He’s rough over the shirt, but he grabs the hem, drags it over Stiles’s head to bare him for the camera. He turns them both slightly, knowing that the camera zooms in on them, focuses on the way Derek rolls one nipple between his fingers. Stiles rocks back against him, sweats already soaked with slick, and for just a moment Derek wants to shove his hands down Stiles’s pants and push his fingers into him, opening him up. It would be so easy; he could make him come right here and right now, and then do it all over again.
No orgasms unless Kali says so.
Derek wants to forget about the camera, wants to lay Stiles out on the bed and take care of his heat for real. He smells so fucking good.
Stiles carefully disengages himself from Derek’s grip and turns to face him, pushing down his sweats while bending over. His dick is thin and pale, and Derek spots a mole along the length that matches the ones dotted all over Stiles’s body. He grips Stiles’s cock without thinking, rubs his thumb over the dark dot, and Stiles looks at him in surprise.
Derek grins. “I could make you come.” The words come out without thinking, and he keeps talking as he glances toward the screen Kali had indicated. “I could get you off now, then get you off again when you come on my knot,” he murmurs, just barely loud enough for the microphones. “I could see just how many times you can come tonight.”
“Fuck.” Stiles’s mouth drops open and he just stares at Derek, closes his fingers around the base of his own cock as if just hearing the words is about to make him shoot off.
The words do it flash on the screen.
Derek doesn’t need to be told twice.
He gets Stiles in front of him again, held tight against his chest, both of them facing the camera. Derek has his mouth on Stiles’s neck, sucking marks to see his pale skin darken. His hand drops to Stiles’s ass first, strokes fingers through the slick, then moves to Stiles’s cock. He grips him tightly, strokes from the base up to the head, twists his hand over the head before he goes back down again. “Come for me,” he whispers. “It’s going to feel so good. You know you need it, you’ll be better then, and we can do this nice and slow. Just come for me.” He bites back an endearment, the word entirely inappropriate when he doesn’t know him. Instead he licks at his neck, strokes along the long column of it before he clamps down, hand moving faster as he feels the keening whine rise in Stiles’s body, feels him go rigid as the whine bursts into a loud cry and he comes in thick spurts all over Derek’s hand.
“So good, so good,” Derek murmurs, still stroking him through the last spasms of his orgasm. “You are so good for me, Stiles.” He bends at the knees, lifts Stiles up and carries him to the bed, laying him out carefully. He can see the heat daze in Stiles’s eyes, the way he stares at Derek, slightly unfocused, with a haze of want in his scent. Derek stretches out next to him, tries to ignore the way Ennis has the camera on a rolling gurney, moving around them.
“Hey.” Derek idly strokes Stiles’s chest, painting random patterns without touching his nipples.
“Fuck, dude. That has to be best bang of a start to a heat I’ve ever had.” Stiles’s voice is slightly sing-song, punch drunk after the orgasm. “And I’m still hard.”
“I can see that.” Derek lets his hand drift lower, lightly strokes along Stiles’s dick as he shivers in response. “So am I.”
“Dude.” Stiles comes to his knees, turns, and quickly straddles Derek’s hips, hands to either side of his chest. “I am going to suck you so hard, your brains will come out of your dick.”
“I am not going to come until I have my knot in you,” Derek counters. “I am going to come deep inside of you, fill you up. Breed you.”
Where the fuck did that come from?
“Fuck yes. Knot me. Fill me.” Stiles pushes at Derek’s shirt, shoves it up until Derek lifts his arms and Stiles manages to yank it off. Stiles stops then, one hand against the thick hair covering Derek’s chest. “Oh my fucking God, you are incredible.” He drags his fingers through the hair, combing it, teasing at Derek’s nipples as he goes. “I want you to rub against me. I want that scratch against my skin, I want to feel you all over my fucking body.” He leans down, nipping at one nipple, and it thrusts his ass in the air.
Derek can’t resist; he holds Stiles’s gaze and grips his ass, pulls his cheeks apart and shows off just how good his Omega is, how very wet he is. There are drips soaking his fingers, running down Stiles’s thighs, and it only takes a finger to realize that Stiles is already open, his ass puffy and ready to be fucked and knotted.
Derek’s pretty sure he’s harder than he’s ever been. He grips Stiles’s hips and brings him down as he thrusts up, pressing his still-clothed cock against Stiles’s, aching for release.
“Yeah, yeah, impatient much?” Stiles works at the fly to Derek’s jeans with fumbling fingers, finally managing to push it wide. “Oh fuck, you are just huge. You are going to be so good to me. So good for me, Derek. I just… I just need to taste you first. Okay?”
Stiles reaches in and brushes his fingers against the base of Derek’s cock. The rest is still trapped down his leg, but that one touch is enough to have his hips lifting off the bed with an oath. “Yeah,” Derek manages to say. “Definitely okay. Get my jeans off, Stiles.”
He lifts his hips, wriggling to try to help Stiles get the too-tight jeans over his erection. As soon as he’s free, jeans tossed by the wayside, Stiles has both his hands around Derek’s dick, as if measuring it with his palms. “Gorgeous,” Stiles whispers, pressing a kiss to the head. “I need to taste you, Derek. Let me taste you.”
His lips are beautiful, the way they stretch around the head of Derek’s dick. Derek just nods helplessly, watches as Stiles sinks down over it, taking it in as far as he can and stroking the base of it with his hands. Amber eyes look up at him, blinking slowly, long eyelashes drawing Derek in to stare at him. He cradles Stiles’s face with his hand, stroking along the hollow of his cheek as Stiles bobs over him, eyes closing again. Stiles hums low in his throat, vibrating around Derek’s dick, and his hips jerk up.
Do not orgasm!
The screen flashes brightly, and Derek groans, just barely keeping control. Stiles’s eyes go wide, and he pulls off with a pop, hand curling around the base of Derek’s dick. “Fuck.”
No problem at all with his knot. It’s more than ready for the main event.
“Want to fuck you,” Derek rumbles. What he really wants to do is for Stiles to sink down over him, ride him hard until his knot fills him, until Stiles’s rim catches and holds on. But it won’t be comfortable to be tied face to face, so he flips them both until Stiles is under him. “Going to knot you, going to breed you so fucking hard. Fill you up, Stiles.”
His touch is gentle, fingers sliding along the curve of Stiles’s jaw, thumb stroking over his lips. He presses in, and Stiles opens up, sucking his thumb in as if it were a cock. When he pulls it back out, Stiles’s lips are wet and slightly open, panting, waiting for more. Derek just cradles his jaw, fingers pressing along the line of it, sliding down his neck and reveling in the fact that Stiles lets him, gives him this access, lets himself be vulnerable to an Alpha. Tilts his head back, gives Derek more access, that fantastic cinnamon coffee vanilla chocolate scent surrounding them.
“Beard burn,” Stiles mumbles, and Derek wants to oblige. Stiles’s hand pats against his jaw and Derek leans in, nuzzling against his shoulder, tracing the line of his collar bone. He leaves tiny red scratches in his wake, a rough prickling against the skin, and Stiles whines in response.
“You are so fucking responsive.” Derek pulls back enough to look at him, pats his hip. “Roll over, Stiles. Show yourself to me.”
He moves to the side, letting Stiles get on his knees, ass in the air, cheeks glistening with slick. His back is arched, hips wavering, head bowed. Derek just barely touches him, and Stiles whimpers, “Please.”
Derek presses his thumbs against Stiles’s skin, opens him up and leans in to nuzzle against the soft skin of his ass, rubbing the stubble of his beard over his skin. He licks at Stiles’s hole, tasting the salt of his slick, the way it coats his tongue. Fuck yes. He slips two fingers in easily, the passage already soaked and open, then follows them with his tongue, lapping at the puffy rim, teasing Stiles with the rub of his beard against the skin of his ass. “You taste so good,” he murmurs, breath a warm huff over reddened skin. “Gonna make you come again, just like this, with my fingers and tongue inside of you. Want you pliant for me, want you so perfectly open.”
He twists his hand and gets a third finger in, crooking them as he looks for just the right spot. Stiles goes rigid under his touch, crying out and back bowing, and Derek knows he’s got it. He strokes there, pressing down, stimulating the prostate while he licks into him, fucks him with his tongue, pushes him to the edge and over without checking the screen.
He doesn’t care about the fucking screen.
Derek just wants Stiles.
Stiles shudders through his orgasm, knees sliding apart as he goes limp in the aftermath. Derek pulls his hand back slowly, strokes it over his cock to get himself slicked up. Stiles’s hole gapes slightly, sticky and wet, and it’s no difficulty at all for Derek to slide right in, even with his knot already forming at the base of his cock. A little push and it’s past the rim, tight inside of Stiles’s ass.
His name sounds like an oath, and he groans loudly in response. “Such a good Omega. Perfect Omega. My Omega.”
He dimly hears a female voice in the distance asking, “Just how much did you give them?”
“Nothing! You can go count the stock.”
Except Derek doesn’t care. He’s balls deep inside of Stiles, and Stiles is squirming under him, hitching his hips back, begging to for more.
“Knot me,” Stiles whimpers breathlessly. “Fuck, Derek, I want to feel your knot fill me up. I want you to come so hard I’m feeling it for days. I want to lock you down, hold you so fucking tight.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Derek’s knot is thickening with each stroke, catching on Stiles’s rim. He’ll be stuck soon, and he can smell the rise of pheromones that tells him that Stiles is reacting.
He twists them both around, ends up sitting on the bed with Stiles on his lap, Derek’s dick still deep inside of him. Stiles sinks down on him, takes him even deeper with a low grunt and a cry, shuddering.
Derek twitches his hips, and Stiles’s ass clamps down, locks him in, tight around his knot. “Fuck,” Derek swears, leaning back, Stiles lying against his chest.
“Yeah, good. So good.” Stiles sounds drunk, voice lazy. “Oh fuck, you’re huge. You feel so good inside of me, Derek. Gonna keep you here, keep you locked where you are.”
“I’m close.” Derek whispers the words into his skin, nips at his throat and Stiles whines. “I need you to come for me, one more time.” He rolls his hand over the head of Stiles’s dick, lifts his hips as Stiles pushes back against him. He knows they are both open, that Stiles is totally on display for the camera, and he loves that he’s doing this. He’s making Stiles feel this good, showing off what a fantastic Omega he has. “Come for me. Come on, Stiles.” He moves his hand faster and faster, his own hips jerking until Stiles goes impossibly tight around him, ass locking down even tighter than before as he crests into his orgasm.
The lock takes Derek by surprise, arousal spiking into a swift and brutal orgasm that nearly makes him black out. He comes until he thinks he can’t come any more, then Stiles moves and Derek’s dick twitches all over again, spurting inside of Stiles. It’s slick and sloppy and if he moves just a little, he can feel it, his dick pulling against Stiles’s taut rim.
Stiles falls back against him, tilts his head back and kisses Derek’s jaw. “So good. Alpha my Alpha, so fucking good.”
“Get the camera. Turn it off.”
Wait. What the fuck is Jordan doing here?
“Got it,” someone else replies. There’s a click and the lights in the room go dim, back down to a manageable level.
“Mood light,” Stiles murmurs, and Derek nuzzles in close, mumbling his agreement.
“Can you get them to turn off their communicators?” Jordan asks.
“Um. I don’t really want to get in the middle of that.” A pause. “Do you want to get in the middle of that?”
“Not really. But we need to clear the room.” There’s a smack on the side of Derek’s face, and a barely recognizable click at his jaw. “Derek. Derek.”
He opens his eyes, Jordan’s face swimming into focus, too close for comfort. Derek growls, baring his teeth, and Jordan steps back, hands up.
“I’m not going to touch him,” he says. “Your Omega. I get it. I heard it enough times through the comm.”
“Through the comm?” The words taste thick in his mouth, and Derek knows he’s still punch drunk on pheromones and Stiles’s heat.
“Mm. Did Scott hear?” Stiles blinks up at him, and there’s a fresh wave of spicy scent. Derek slides one hand down Stiles’s arm, cradles his hand and lifts it to his lips to nip at a fingertip.
“Scott heard way more than he ever needs to hear again, buddy,” the unknown voice mutters from the other side of the room. “However, Scott has also saved this file from being uploaded—yes, I’ve kept it, since we’ll need to review this mess later—and has deleted every other video with you in it from the server. Your career as a porn star is over.”
“Too bad.” Stiles hums happily. “The sex was good. In fact, it was fucking amazing today. Amazeballs. You have amazing balls, Derek. And an amazing dick. Did I mention your knot?”
“Not yet.” Derek snickers.
“We could just leave them here,” Jordan suggests. “They are tied and locked at the moment.” It sounds like a good idea to Derek, who wraps himself around Stiles and carefully tilts to one side, lowering them both to the bed.
“Blanket,” Derek demands, and one is thrown over him.
“I’ve got Kali and Ennis, and we’ve got the stash.” Scott sighs. “Let’s just shut everything down and let them ride this out. I get the feeling it might be a couple more hours after this, even once they unlock.”
“Go away,” Stiles says, the word ending on a pleasured moan. “Leave me with Derek.”
Footsteps move away, and a moment later the door closes and they are left alone. Derek can already feel the lock around his knot loosening, and he’s not ready to let go, so he shifts his hips, letting his knot drag against Stiles’s rim until it tightens down again. He groans softly, buries his face in Stiles’s shoulder, and holds on. As long as no one disturbs them, he has no need to move.
“And then you realized that Officer Stilinski was in heat?”
Derek winces at Jordan’s question, gaze darting to the door, just beyond which lies the bullpen and Sheriff Stilinski’s office. He presses his fingertips to the bridge of his nose. “For the sixth time, Jordan, can we just call him Stiles?”
“The fact that you made a sex tape with the sheriff’s son is never going to get old,” Jordan says dryly. “Didn’t I hear him inviting you over to dinner Sunday night and mentioning his brand new shotgun?”
“Dinner, yes.” Derek doesn’t remember John mentioning a gun, but then, it’s not like he’s unaware of exactly how many guns the Sheriff owns, and how good a marksman he happens to be. “Let’s just finish the debriefing.”
He tries to be as clinical as he can manage about the events, knowing that Stiles is going through the same thing with his own partner in a room nearby. It’s only been a few hours since they came out of the heat fog; enough time for a shower and a chance to step apart from each other and regain some coherence.
He’s at least managed to figure out what he missed: apparently they managed to turn on the comms inadvertently mid-scene. Derek flushes brightly when he remembers again that while he and Stiles were getting it on, Jordan and Scott were arresting the criminals.
“Hey, it’s okay. It was heat sex.” Jordan touches Derek’s hand, and Derek gives him a rueful look.
“Yeah. That’s all it was.” His entire body aches from head to toe, and he still feels sticky even after his shower. There’s an itch under his skin, like he hasn’t been completely satisfied, and he thinks maybe dinner and a good sleep will help. He pushes to his feet and stretches. “I’m getting out of here before the Sheriff decides to have another conversation with me. Tell him I’ll be back first thing tomorrow.”
Derek shoves open the door, heads into the hallway without looking, and catches the person who barrels into him from the room next door.
“Oh. Hey.” Stiles is back in a t-shirt and sweats, but this time the shirt is too big, hiding his build under slack folds and covering where his sweats still hang low. Derek can catch his scent if he tries, but the spicy notes no longer overwhelm him. Still, he stares at Stiles, the feel of him burned into his skin in unexpected ways, and struggles not to reach out.
Stiles reaches up, pauses, then pushes a hand through his own hair, spiking the strands. “Um. I just…” he glances back at the door, “debriefed. And by now you’ve heard….” He looks at the door to the bullpen. “So yeah. Well. I didn’t exactly tell Dad I was on this particular assignment, and there’s been some yelling. I heard something about a dinner on Sunday.”
“I was told to be there.” Derek is stiff, hands shoved in his pockets to keep himself from reaching out. At least this time his jeans fit and he can get his hands into his pockets.
“Yeah.” Stiles scrubs a hand through his hair, looks at the floor, shifts his weight to his other foot, looks back at Derek, amber eyes wide. “So I was thinking….”
“Coffee,” Derek blurts in the absence of another word. “We should get coffee. And maybe talk.”
Stiles barks out a short laugh, but a slow smile comes on the heels of that. “Yeah. Talk. Because we’re doing things in reverse. And um… you triggered my heat. I’ve never had that happen before.”
“Me neither.” Derek pulls one hand out of his pocket, holds it out in front of him, waiting. When Stiles lets his hand fall against it, Derek curls his fingers, holding on tight, palm to palm. A smile quirks, threatens to break loose. “Some people seem to think I got possessive about you. Might have even claimed you.”
“I usually require a first date before I let Alphas go around claiming me, but you know, doing things in reverse.” Stiles tugs, and Derek takes a step with him and they’re nose to nose there in the corridor.
“Please get a room this time. One where I don’t have to be there,” Jordan says, as the door behind him opens.
“Or me. Dude.” Scott’s shaking his head as he comes out of the other room, edges past them heading for the bullpen. “Stiles, I’ll go distract your dad. You guys go get coffee or whatever, but please, for the love of God, get that out of here.”
“Coffee?” Derek repeats, more secure in the question this time, and in the knowledge that Stiles knows what he’s really asking.
Stiles tilts forward, brushes his lips against Derek’s for just a brief moment. “Coffee,” he agrees, serious expression tilting into a smirk. “Everything else is up for negotiation. My Alpha.”
Derek drops an arm across his shoulders, drags him close as they head for the staff entrance to the precinct. “My Omega,” he murmurs, nipping at Stiles’s ear and feeling him shudder in response.
Derek’s pretty sure that everything’s going to turn out just fine. As long as the Sheriff doesn’t shoot them both, come Sunday.