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The One With The Free Massage

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Derek smells Stiles before he hears the key in the lock. But he smells all wrong, barely recognizable.

Derek’s senses are immediately on alert, hackles rising as he adopts a defensive crouch, facing the door and listening to the scrape of metal and the turn of the key. The only other person who has a key to Derek’s new apartment is Stiles. It made sense for Derek to give him one as he spends most nights here now. So, although logically Derek knows that it must be Stiles letting himself in the front door, he’s uneasy, his senses confused.

The door opens and the unfamiliar smell is stronger, masking Stiles’ scent almost entirely. Derek’s nose wrinkles and a deep growl rumbles in his chest as he feels his eyes glow red.

Stiles stumbles over the threshold, happily oblivious. He’s wafting thick waves of lavender with hints of a more subtle citrusy scent, all underpinned by something sweet and earthy. It’s almost unbearably strong to Derek’s sensitive nose and he covers his nose and mouth with his hand as Stiles comes closer.

“Jesus Christ, Stiles,” he chokes out. “What the hell is that smell?”

“Oh -- isn’t it awesome?” Stiles shrugs off his jacket and the scent immediately explodes in Derek’s nostrils, twice as strong as it was before. “I just got for a massage, at that new spa place, you know? I won a voucher for it in a contest at the health food store and I thought I might as well use it, being free and all...”

His voice trails off as he takes in the expression on Derek’s face, his defensive posture, the tension rippling in the room.

“And now I suddenly realize that the massage was a mistake.” He steps warily toward Derek, raising his hands in a ‘don’t eat me, I come in peace’ gesture. “But... help me out here, Derek. What exactly is the problem here?”

“You don’t smell like you.” Derek’s voice is low and rough. “I didn’t know who you were.”

“Gee, okay... I can see that now. This stuff is pretty strong, huh?” Stiles raises his forearm to his nose and sniffs appreciatively. “Smells good though doesn’t it? And the oil feels really nice. It’s made my skin all soft.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Your skin is always soft, Stiles. You’re like a peach.”

He’s calmed a little now that he can see that contrary to what his nose is telling him, it really is Stiles and not some random weird-smelling stranger. Derek straightens up, shaking the tension out of his muscles. But then Stiles comes closer still, tentatively putting his hands on Derek’s shoulders and leaning in as if to kiss him, and Derek’s nostrils flare and his body stiffens again. He grabs Stiles roughly and nuzzles into his neck, sniffing hard, nearly choking on the fumes of the massage oil. He yanks at the neck of Stiles’ t-shirt, making the stitching tear as Derek runs his nose over Stiles’ collarbone and shoulder. He growls again, a low ripple of sound that vibrates deep in his chest. “They had their hands all over you.”

Stiles lets out a nervous huff of amusement. “Derek, are you familiar with the concept of a massage? The touching goes with the territory...” but he stops as Derek just glowers at him.

Stiles belongs to him.

Nobody touches Stiles all over except Derek.

Derek’s fingers wrap around Stiles’ wrist and he’s pulling at him, dragging him through the apartment and into the bathroom. “I need to wash this shit off you.” He bites out the words, fighting the wolf back down that’s close to bursting out right about now.

He tears off Stiles’ t-shirt, ripping it beyond repair. Stiles protests, but Derek is beyond reason, and Stiles seems to catch on pretty fast, going pliant in Derek’s hands and just letting him do what he needs to do. “I’d better not put massage gift certificates on my Christmas list this year then, I guess?” he jokes. But Derek just snarls in reply, shoving Stiles’ pants down and helping him roughly out of the resulting shoe/sock tangle. “Yep, I thought not.” Stiles rolls his eyes a little.

Derek’s shucking off his own clothes too, and moves to turn the water on in the shower. As soon as they’re both naked he shoves Stiles under the spray, making him yelp as the not-yet-hot-enough water hits his skin. Stiles is slippery with the scented oil and Derek can hardly get a grip on him as he tries to twist away from under the cool stream of water, but Derek blocks him with his body and holds his upper arm firmly with one hand as he reaches for soap and a washcloth.

The soap is free of any fragrance. It’s the type that Derek prefers, hating to mask his natural scent with anything artificial. He works up a lather with the washcloth and proceeds to scrub at Stiles’ skin, eradicating the scent of the massage oil and the hands of the man that have been all over Stiles. Stiles cooperates again now that the water is running hot, no longer struggling physically. But he keeps up a stream of half-hearted protest as Derek scrapes at his sensitive skin with the rough fabric of the cloth, determined to remove every last hint of scent that doesn’t belong to Stiles himself.

Derek is still angry. He knows he’s being irrational, that Stiles would never cheat on him. But just the thought of Stiles lying almost-naked on a table, letting someone else touch all that perfect, pale skin that belongs to Derek... He growls again, dropping to his knees to scrub at Stiles’ legs, working his way up to his lean thighs. They’re oiled right up to his groin, even his ass cheeks are slippery with it.

“He massaged your butt?” Derek hisses, looking up at Stiles incredulously, blinking against the water that splashes into his eyes.

“Apparently there were some very tight muscles there,” Stiles shrugs innocently.

Derek takes a long slow breath and grits his teeth, ducking his head back down and turning Stiles around roughly to scrub extra hard at his ass, watching as the skin pinks up. Stiles yelps a little but puts up with it. Derek pulls on his hip and turns him back around. Stiles’ cock brushes against Derek’s stubbled jaw as he sniffs at Stiles’ groin.

“Okay, that’s definitely an oil free zone,” Stiles sounds alarmed as he brings his hands down to cup himself. “Really, there’s no need to be scrubbing that.” Derek slaps his hands away and buries his nose into the wet hair, nuzzling in and humming his satisfaction as he breathes in that pure, unadulterated Stiles smell. Stiles’ cock plumps up a little against his cheek as Derek takes his time, breathing him in, reassuring himself that Stiles smells only of Stiles again.

But now he needs to smell of Derek.

Derek shuts off the water and grabs a towel, rubbing Stiles until he’s more or less dry, then using it on himself. He turns, feeling playful now, and sweeps Stiles off his feet and over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“Dude... dignity!” Stiles protests, but Derek just growls and slaps his ass as he carries him through to his bedroom and tosses him unceremoniously down on the large rumpled bed. The mattress squeaks as Derek launches himself on top of Stiles and pins him, pressing him down with the weight of his body, hands gripping tight on Stiles’ wrists.

“I really shouldn’t find this whole crazy werewolf possessive thing so hot,” Stiles remarks, his breath a hot brush on Derek’s lips.

Derek chuckles then and shifts his hips. “But you do.”

Stiles smells of arousal now, the sharp musk of it making Derek’s cock ache as he slides it over the skin of Stiles’ belly. Derek presses down harder, laying his body out over Stiles as he licks over his throat and sucks on the pulse point, grazing with his teeth as he draws the blood to the surface, hot beneath his tongue. Derek keeps moving, dragging his mouth lower as he grinds down on Stiles, marking him with his mouth as he covers him with his body. The heat between them makes them sticky, their sweat and pre-come mingling as Derek works, making Stiles his again.

When he reaches Stiles’ hip bones he sucks matching marks on each, while Stiles hangs on to his hair and tries to shove his dick in the general direction of Derek’s mouth. But Derek just grips it in one tight fist and holds it out of his way while he sucks on the soft skin of Stiles’ abdomen, making it bloom with blood-red marks. When he’s finished, Derek rears up and gestures with a spinning finger until Stiles stops glaring at him and flips onto his belly with a huff.

Derek just looks at him for a moment, something swelling warm in his chest at the sight of Stiles splayed out on the sheets for him. The lean lines of his limbs and the curve of his spine draw Derek’s eyes, and his hands follow, mapping out the shape of Stiles as he leans over him and starts to use his mouth again.

He sucks on Stiles’ back, starting at his nape and working down his spine, leaving a trail of reddened marks that almost look like fingerprints. He soothes each new mark with firm licks of his tongue before continuing. Stiles is warm and pliant beneath him, arching when Derek’s tongue touches him and hissing when he bites. His hips are shifting against the mattress and the sweet-sharp scent of his pre-come is growing stronger with each minute that passes.

“Come on!” he urges. But Derek won’t be rushed.

When Derek reaches the swell of Stiles’ ass he stops biting and just uses his tongue to lick the flesh there. It’s still pink from the vigorous scrubbing in the shower and Stiles is so sensitive that each pass of Derek’s tongue has him whimpering and squirming as he grinds his cock against the sheets. Derek crawls up to nuzzle Stiles’ nape, kissing and nipping as he lets his cock slide in the crack of Stiles’ ass, long and slow and teasing. He’s leaking pre-come, and he pulls back to look as he takes his cock in his hand and draws a sticky trail on Stiles’ ass, joining the dots of dark freckles on fair skin and dipping into the dimples above each cheek.

“Please, Derek,” Stiles whines and he reaches a hand beneath his body to grip his cock, clearly desperate to get off. But Derek growls and pulls his arm out, pinning it behind his back. He leans close over Stiles and nips the back of his neck as a warning.

“Don’t move.”

Stiles’ body is taut with tension. But he stays absolutely still while Derek moves to grab lube from the nightstand, only the frantic lift of his ribs with each shallow breath betrays his desperation. When Derek moves between his thighs and pushes them wider, Stiles moves willingly, spreading himself open for Derek like a gift.

Derek works him open with two fingers quickly, impatient, but knowing that Stiles doesn’t want to wait either. The scent of need and want is so strong that Derek can almost taste it in his throat. Stiles’s heart is pounding, his body flushed and slick with sweat. He’s hot and tight around Derek’s fingers, squeezing them as he pushes back, muttering and cursing and begging for his cock.

Derek’s pretty fucking desperate too by now, so as soon as Stiles feels even close to ready, Derek pulls his fingers out and replaces them with his cock. He pushes in hard, knowing Stiles can take it, knowing he wants it and is rewarded by a gasp of “oh fuck yes” that spurs him on. Derek’s riding the knife edge between his wolf and human forms; his senses heightened, incapable of coherent speech. But his hands are still human and when he grazes his teeth over Stiles’ shoulder they’re blunt and only scrape without breaking the skin. He fucks into Stiles hard and fast and he feels the aching heat deep in his balls, spreading and building as he gets closer and closer. He grips Stiles’s hips as he comes, pulling him back onto his cock as it spurts and spurts, filling Stiles up as Derek throws his head back and howls his satisfaction and possession.

He pulls out when he’s done and flips Stiles effortlessly over onto his back in a sprawl of coltish limbs. Stiles’ dick is swollen and flushed, the raised veins clearly visible beneath the thin silk of his skin. His cheeks have high spots of color on them and his eyes are dark and glazed. “Oh God... I need to come. Fuck, Derek... please... make me come!”

Derek pushes Stiles’ thighs wide so he can see his come slipping out of Stiles’ pretty pink hole. He pushes it back in with his fingers as he uses his other hand to stroke Stiles’ cock. Stiles shivers under his touch and whines as Derek jerks him harder, fucking into him with his fingers now, all slick and wet where Stiles is loose and open from Derek’s cock. Derek uses his tongue too, lapping at Stiles’ balls and moving lower, catching the come that leaking out of Stiles’ ass, forced out by the relentless thrust of Derek’s fingers.

Stiles’ whole body goes taut when he comes, shuddering with the force of it as he cries out, clamping and pulsing around Derek’s fingers. Derek feels the rush of hot wetness in his palm and smears it onto Stiles’ belly and hip as he moves up to lick his cock, catching the last feeble blurt of white on his tongue, making Stiles twitch and jerk as he laps at the slit.

Derek sits up to look at the sight of Stiles, wrecked, sweaty and covered in their combined mess. He grins. Stiles looks back at him, and raises an eyebrow. “You look so fucking pleased with yourself.”

“I am.” Derek grins wider.

You’re not gonna let me shower now, are you?”

“Nope.” Derek shakes his head. “You’re perfect now.”

He lies down beside Stiles and curls around him, gathering him into his arms. He smooths his hands over Stiles chest and belly where his come is already drying, sticky on his warm skin, and sniffs happily at Stiles’ nape, humming his contentment.

“You are so gross sometimes,” Stiles mumbles as his heartbeat slows, breathing soft and steady now. "I don't know why I put up with this wolfy crap."

“You love it,” Derek replies, squeezing him tighter. Stiles smells sleepy and sated, drenched in sex. “Now shh. It's time for a nap.”