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The Gift That Keeps On Giving (Guilt, Among Other Things)

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Stiles shudders with a whine, practically a sob tearing from his throat. He can feel the scratch of fur, the rumble of a growl, the drip of slobber—all of it, so very defined and sharp and there against his skin. He chokes out a moan, a garbled cry of “Derek” as he pulls his head closer. “Fuck.” Stiles gasps.

Derek’s presence, normally, takes up the entire room. Just as a human, with broad shoulders and muscles and an aura of domination. In his full form, as a deep brown-black wolf, Stiles could be blind and deaf and senseless and stillknow Derek was there.

Derek growls, you’re getting distracted, and Stiles hiccups an apology. His own cock hangs heavy and wet between his bent knees as Derek laves over his ass, his balls, his taint. His legs shake from exertion even though Stiles isn’t even really holding himself up, he’s just sprawled out on his bed. Derek chuffs a laugh against him and licks harder, practically driving him up the bed with the force of his ministrations.

“Derek, fucking, fuck,” Stiles sobs into the pillow and tears into it with his teeth, his cockhead rubbing raw against the spot on the sheets that’s wet with his own precome. “Can you even fucking understand me?”

Derek’s playful nip to his ass tells him yes.

“Your fucking mouth, oh my god.”

The torment continues, and the only grounding factors are Derek’s heavy and hot paw resting on Stiles’ ankle, and Stiles’ own inner monologue of oh my god, he’s an animal, my boyfriend is an animal, that’s—he’s—I’m—this is so fucked up.

Derek bites him again, this time on the fleshiest part of his thigh and a little harder. Stiles apologizes again just as Derek licks not only over him but intohim. And keeps doing it, over and over until Stiles is just drenched, in sweat and precome and slobber.

Stiles meeps,choking on his moan as his dick verges less on teased and more on tortured. He’s about to ask Derek, with a weak and throaty voice, to change back, get the show on the road, do something, make Stiles come—but Derek is moving before such a demand can be made.

Specifically, Derek is sitting up—standing tall and impressive and mildly terrifying at not even his full height—and pressing a paw to the expanse of skin between Stiles’ shoulders. Derek shoves Stiles into the bed, hard, cutting off air for a split moment before Derek hikes Stiles’ ass further in the air.

Stiles gasps around the mouthful of pillow. “Derek, Derek, not right now—I need, you can’t, not now, nor right now—!”

But either Derek doesn’t care—highly unlikely, Stiles tells himself—or knows better—likely, but Stiles isn’t soothed or convinced. The feels of a wet and blunt cock pressing at him isn’t helping matters, and his breathing stutters with the starts of a panic attack.

Derek licks at his neck and face, grumbling but not growling—more like a noise of comfort, of assurance. Derek’s hips start, but he doesn’t aim. He’s giving Stiles an out, a chance to escape, and Stiles shudders with relief.

“Okay, okay,” he says, voice and body and mind wrecked to pieces. “Okay, c’mon, do it.”

Derek actually barks, and obliges. He licks a stripe across Stiles’ shoulders before his hips start to piston again, not aiming and making a further mess of Stiles’ thighs. Stiles is about to complain, or offer to assist, when Derek makes it.

There’s a hole in one joke, somewhere in there, Stiles thinks, but it’s loss in a mindless clusterfuck of ideas.

Despite his size, Derek’s dig isn’t splitting him open in pain—mild discomfort, sure, but that’s true of any time they fuck—and Stiles doesn’t necessarily feel like he’s being plundered by a baseball bat. The only hindrance is that his mind is clouded with too many ideas, too many thoughts, too many feelings. The feeling in his chest, the squeeze of his heart with the way he’s full, sofucking full.

Derek bites the back of his neck, and holds him in place as he starts up a pace rutting inside Stiles. It’s like punching the air out of Stiles every time, he’s really only along for the ride.

“Derek, holy shit, I can’t—fuck, fuck, fuck” is all that falls from Stiles’ lips as he melts into the bed, letting Derek loom over him. The fur tickles his skin, sticks to his skin as it’s matted with sweat and come. Derek growls and picks up his pace, rocking the bed into the wall and tearing moans and cries and groans from Stiles.

Stiles blinks as he feels something on every inward thrust.

“Oh my fuck why the fuck didn’t you tell me.”

Derek’s answering bite reads, to Stiles’, as you should’ve known.

Even with his mind in a fog, Stiles snaps out “you can’t get pissed when I make a dog joke anymore, you fucking asshole, do that again.”

And Derek does, he thrusts harder and faster until Stiles has all but swallowed his pillow. Claws scramble along his back as Derek fights for purpose and control, his knot getting closer and closer to breaching inside Stiles.

“Oh come on, just fucking do it.” Stiles barks, tilting his hips up for better leverage. Derek all but howls—Stiles wonders what the neighbors will think—and thrusts hard enough to slam Stiles’ face into the wall at the head of the bed as well as slam his knot inside Stiles.

It’s hot and filling, too much but just right at the same time; he’s out of breath and feels ready to lose his lunch or pass out or die or come. Derek continues to rut, though he can’t pull out. His fur is going to leave chafe marks, Stiles knows, with the way it rubs every time Derek tries to get deeper and deeper and deeper inside Stiles.

“Derek, I need to come, please, please.”

Derek’s massive paws draw Stiles up on his knees again and hold him as he thrusts, aborted swivels of animalistic hips. Stiles drops a hand and jerks his cock three times before he’s spilling onto the bed where his precome has drenched the sheets and the mattress and his thighs.

Derek growls and sinks his teeth into Stiles’ neck, but Stiles can feel the difference between the domination and the sort of bite that would change him. It’s pure domination, pure alpha but never a threat, that Stiles feels as Derek’s hips jerk forward once twice four times more before Stiles feels come splatter into him.

Stiles cries into the pillow, relief and exhaustion and contentment welling inside him, all too much, like a balloon popping. As his come pulses inside Stiles, as his knot throbs, Derek licks at the bite marks and the hickies and at Stiles’ face.

Stiles sighs once the come has stopped.

“Can you shift back?” He asks, heart heavy and conscious far too alive. He feels guilty, dirty, filthy, but sated. Derek licks at him a few more times, and an animal snout snuffles at his ear, tickling and flirting on swelling anxiety before Stiles feels far less crushed by his own mind and Derek’s form.

“Sorry.” Derek grunts, hands coming to rub soothing patterns over Stiles’ tired skin. “I. I’m sorry.”

Stiles shakes his head, shaking and laughing weakly. “It’s okay. I liked it.” He swallows. “Too much, I liked it way too much.”

Derek grins against his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“It’s really not, Derek.”

“It’s normal, especially for alpha mates.”

Stiles feels a little better. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Derek nuzzles at him and pulls out—no knot as a human, the come was spilling out around his dick anyways—and the rest bleeds into the sheets. “That’s kind of awful.” His nose twitches, though, and Stiles can practically feel how pleased Derek is. Collapsing back together, Derek kisses all the scratches and bites. “Thank you.”

Stiles laughs. “Thank you.”

“We don’t have to do it again,” Derek adds, “not if if makes you uncomfortable.”

“Did I seem uncomfortable to you?”

“Uncomfortable morally.”

Stiles twists, body tired, to face his boyfriend. Mate. Derek. “I think I can live.” Stiles nuzzles Derek back and relishes the content rumble it earns him. “Just not every time.”

Derek grins against Stiles’ temple and folds him up in the blankets and an embrace. “Thank you.”

“Yeah yeah. Make me breakfast when we wake up.” Stiles is still a bite jittery with nerves—all the usual thoughts are running through his mind (how’s dad doing, did Scott do his homework, I miss mom, what will we do if Allison ends up pregnant, I love you Derek) plus a whole other level of them running alongside (I just had sex with an animal, I enjoyed it, I’m sick, I’m terrible, but it was okay, it wasn’t but it was, oh god, Derek, I love you).

“Stiles, sleep.”