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They've talked about it. It was awkward, kind of intense, and way, way, way too soon. But the moon waits for no man, it just keeps on circling until it reaches the pinnacle of its power, right around the time your SATs scores are about to get published. Stiles been kind of thrumming with nervous energy for about a week and Derek is getting all testy around him, one minute up in Stiles’s business, hands everywhere, and the next he's running round the house four times and doing pull ups in his door frame. He doesn't even get breathless with it. But when he's just standing in front of Stiles, knuckles trailing Stiles's jawline, forehead to forehead? That's when he seems out of breath. Living in Derek's world is a back to front existence.

It has now become pretty clear they've crossed the demarcation line. There’s really no going back. There had been a plan b, about a month ago, that involved Stiles spending three nights in Las Vegas (in his mind it was Vegas, the plan merely stipulated another state) while Derek had his betas lock him up somehow for the entire moon-peak time. (Stiles doesn't like calling it heat, they're not animals, they're not, of the two of them, they're like a quarter-Wolf and that quarter totally gets out-voted). But Derek's talked to him about the way his family used to celebrate this time of year, nothing sordid, nothing too hippy either, just food, lots of food at the beginning, (for sustenance) and nearly a whole week of upside-down time where the kids got to run the house and play all day and generally live an adult free existence, with an indulgent grandparent or two to keep an eye on them and the big feast at the end that the children had to hunt for and prepare for when the adult wolves emerged. That was the best thing, the kid feast with all the party food and all the wolf food you could ever want and the adults always loved it, and ate ravenously. Derek said it was like Christmas for wolves. Stiles wants Christmas as much as possible. Wants it for himself, and for Derek, because let's face it, they've both had some fairly crappy Christmases lately and Stiles likes food. So plan B was relegated to being plan Y fairly quickly and besides, they're way past that now. Line crossed, obliterated, left for dust. Stiles doesn't think he could walk out the house right now, let alone cross state lines.

They've spent a month talking this over, what this will be like. Derek has promised over and over, he won’t hold Stiles to it, even if they go through with it. The truth of what the mating will mean, has meant in wolf families, doesn't have to mean the same now. Ownership isn't a thing that means anything to Derek any more, and it isn't something that Stiles is comfortable with either. Ownership can suck their hairless asses any time it wants. This is going to be about sex, full on, hard core, werebody-enhanced sex. Stiles is going to love it, he's going to take it, he's going to give it, he's going to rule it. And Vegas can take a hike.

After a week of talking about it, it stopped being about preparation and discussion and mostly was about foreplay, about getting each other hot. About Stiles asking Derek to describe how his dick will grow while letting his tongue draw up the underside. About Derek pushing into him, thrusting right to the hilt and stopping, holding himself above Stiles as long as he can, promising how much more it will be, how much longer, how much fuller and tighter and more pleasurable. Stiles comes, begging Derek to knot him. But Derek's waiting for the moon, for the power to give Stiles everything on and on and over and over without stopping.

And now they're here and Stiles is showering in the little out-house for what feels like the hundredth time but is actually just the third. His body feels hotwired to Derek's. They haven't done anything yet today, he's not dirty. He's just hot, far too hot, skin itching, and heart jumping, so the showering helps. Derek wants to wait till dusk, till he can see the moon high in the sky. Stiles thinks the moon is a cold, distant thing that would never deign to notice or manipulate him. But Derek hears it call to him, summon out his deepest, strongest, strangest soul.

Finally the sun goes down. They stand together on the stairwell of the Hale house, upper-floors open to the sky above them. They don't touch at all, they just wait, watching the moon grow brighter and brighter, both their bodies shaking in time with the perilous clouds. At last Derek reaches out, trails one finger down the back of Stiles's neck and Stiles knows it's time and turns into Derek's arms, tries to look composed and ready.

He’s not composed but he is ready. Knotting. It’s a thing that exists. Like werewolves and weird lizard creatures. It’s just rated NC-17 so you don’t hear about it so much on TV. It exists and he gets it. Stiles. He’s the one that gets it.

Derek's eyes gleam red, like any warmth the moon had was drawn out of it to bleed into Derek's eyes. The light of the moon reflects on them, so they shine brighter than they should. Stiles feels a thrill of excitement and lust fly through him. He breaks into a smile,

"Wait! Are you the Alpha?" Stiles says, sarcastic.

Derek just growls at him, low and predatory, because he doesn't know how to show appreciation for Stiles's humour.

Derek stalks down the stairs, manhandling Stiles ahead of him. Stiles feels the purpose in his hands and basically melts. He's decided to be okay with being owned, you know, for one night only. Stiles gets pushed onto the recently assembled bed in the Hale "front room". It's a ridiculously tasteless and opulent bed that Stiles picked out for them because Derek gave him the choice and he couldn't not choose the most Jersey Shore of all the beds just to test Derek's patience. Stiles sinks into the middle of it, it's so soft, so luxurious, it doesn't fit in at all here, it doesn't fit Derek at all, or Stiles. But Stiles secretly wants that for this, doesn't think he could do this and really be himself at the same time. As much as he doesn’t want to miss out of this experience, as much as he would never even consider backing out. He does think he must be mad.

Derek lays him out on the bed, face down. Stiles decides to just go with it for a while, see what happens.

What happens is the most thorough, intensive, spine-destroyingly pleasurable rim-job Stiles could ever imagine. Derek’s tongue seems to spend hours circling his entrance until Stiles hands clench, fists banging the bed to express his frustration. Derek’s tongue works into him in tiny increments, Derek shifts his whole body around over Stiles’s back so he can lick in at every different angle. It’s a laborious approach and Stiles adds annoying-sex-OCD to his list of possible Derek-ailments to research.

Eventually Derek’s tongue is as far into Stiles’s ass as it will go. Stiles’s pretty sure Derek’s tongue is inhumanly strong, the way it rakes along the inside of him, making him shudder and mouth at the bed spread. Derek adds in two fingers at the base, where the knot will be soon. He stretches Stiles there, pushing hard. Stiles just moans.

“Stop testing me.” He complains. “I’m good to go.”

Derek swirls his tongue round slowly once more, just to ensure Stiles remains jelly-like for the rest of time and then pulls out. He empties what is probably a bucket-load of lube into Stiles’s ass, paints Stiles’s walls with one finger. Stiles knows his ass is acting like a shameless hussy right now but he can’t stop it lifting up, chasing more of Derek’s finger inside him. He knows, intellectually speaking, that he doesn’t need to be impatient, he’s going to get everything, but his ass didn’t get the memo.

Finally Derek turns him over, kisses him, lines them up. Stiles is so far beyond eagerness and ready for right the hell now thank you. He thinks perhaps he is a little moonstruck himself, like Derek’s connection to it is leaking into him.

Stiles arches his hips as Derek eases into him. He’s so worked up, so ready for this that he worries he’s going to ruin it somehow because of all the anticipation. His legs are shaking and he knows his mouth is hanging wide open. Derek’s hands soothe his thighs, pulling him open, lifting him up; and then Derek’s planting himself within Stiles. Stiles has never had words for what this feels like, to be so exposed and so accepted at the same time, to want so desperately even as you are getting everything you want. To feel that perfect, painful fullness and hurtle towards the climax even as you wish it would never come. Oh the joys of sex. Stiles is a fan. He grasps at Derek’s waist, trying to pull him in tighter, trying to latch onto his rhythm.

“Arrgh Derek come on,” Stiles cries out in frustration. He wants it. His ass aches, hole stretched around Derek. It’s going to hurt when it happens, it’s going to feel so good.

“Are you sure?” Derek asks through laboured breaths.

Stiles has to laugh. “Could you even stop it right now?” Derek gives him an affronted look and Stiles knows for certain, if Stiles said no, even now, Derek would find it within him to pull out. But Stiles’s so sure. He’s going to be begging for it in a minute, crying out to come on Derek’s cock and Derek knows that too, the tease.

Derek’s thrusts are so long, so insistent within him, claiming all of Stiles’s attention. Stiles’s cock is unbelievably hard between them. He doesn’t think it’s ever been this hard before, at least not without him immediately moving his hand to his dick. But he can’t concentrate on his cock enough to even realise he should touch himself. It’s just him and straining, desperate, open pleasure, moaning out with every beat of Derek’s cock inside him. He feels his walls close in on Derek, try to keep him there. Derek’s body over him is all-consuming, beyond just how he feels inside Stiles. Stiles can taste him, the sweat gathering on his chest that draws Stiles’s tongue to it. The smell of Derek, becoming less and less distinguishable from the smell of Stiles and sex the longer this goes on. The sound of him breathing out on every thrust, the whisper of Stiles’s name at his ear, the undignified slap and squelch of their bodies joining, the rattle of the headboard and the aggrieved thumping of the bed’s frame against the floor. Stiles looks at Derek, his stupidly beautiful face and ridiculous body, Stiles would laugh if he wasn’t currently being devastated by it all. He dreads to think what Derek can see and smell and hear from him, he’s just a bag of bones attached to a live wire that Derek currently controls. He knows he’s a mess, but looking at Derek right now, he doesn’t care, and he can see that Derek doesn’t either. Derek looks like a man on the edge of bliss, like a man trying desperately not to fall off a cliff. Stiles wants him to fall more than anything. Stiles wants Derek inside him when he does.

“Do it.” Stiles commands and his voice sounds like it went through eight distorters and bounced off the planet Mars before it emerged into the world.

“Do. It.” He grits out, each word spilling out on the back of a thrust from Derek as the air’s forced out of him.

And Derek comes inside him. He comes and comes. Hot, shooting come that pours into Stiles and instantly Derek is growing inside of him. Knot expanding, pushing against Stiles’s walls, slow but firm. Stiles feels the burn of his muscles accommodating the unexpected pressure. Feels every fraction of Derek’s growth, he hadn’t known he could feel any fuller. He’s been completely stoppered up. Stiles is a fine wine and the cork has been well and truly wedged in the bottleneck.

Stiles gasps for breath. His whole body is freaking out, he’s full-body shaking, the tremors of Derek’s cock radiating out, consuming Stiles’s body. Stiles is coming suddenly too without him fully realising. He’s just crying out, eyes rolling in the back of his head, hips rucked up high, and his come covers his chest, drips down towards his chin until Derek bends over him and licks it off him, and oh god, that angle of Derek bent over him, drawing Stiles’s hips up with him as he goes, pushing against his prostate more intensely so Stiles cries out again, spurts out the last tiny bit of come onto Derek’s chin.

Derek’s huge inside him. Stiles’s post-orgasm state allows him to relax a little, ease his hips down, so he’s taking it more gently now. Derek’s cock is throbbing inside him still releasing his come.

Stiles stretches out his body, displaying himself for Derek to see. He’s feeling fairly pleased with himself and how this is going so far. Of course, Derek chooses this moment to attack his body. Nipples first, twisted between blunt teeth, calmed by a smooth, deliberate tongue. Derek latches onto his neck, kisses thoroughly, moves up inexorably to Stiles’s mouth. And when Derek kisses him properly, deep and dirty and without stopping Stiles feels the glory of knotting in all of its binding intensity. He’s stuck, trapped, locked down. Fighting this or moving away would cause him physical damage, inordinate amounts of pain. He would literally have to rip himself off Derek’s cock. It’s the weirdest sensation, to be so full of cock and come, he feels it all the way up his spine as his nerve endings respond. Derek rocks them backwards so Derek’s on his knees with Stiles seated over him. Stiles loves this, loves the position, the sense of being on top, bearing down on Derek’s cock, face above his, able to wrap his arms around Derek’s neck, enclose him, coax Derek’s head back and kiss him from above. Stiles tongue fucks Derek with an urgency he doesn’t really understand, they could have hours like this and yet, with Derek still coming inside him, mouth open, eyes wide, so clearly being devastated in the best way by what they’re doing, Stiles can’t help himself. He has to kiss him as thoroughly as possible for as long as possible. He has to hold Derek together, arms gathering him in, lips catching every moan as Derek comes apart under him. Derek chants Stiles’s name, his hands are holding Stiles’s shoulders, gripping so tight, keeping Stiles positioned perfectly on Derek’s cock. He rocks them slightly and Stiles croons at Derek in response. “Yes, yes, that’s good, that feels so good.”

Derek is making broken noises now, breathy and higher pitched then Derek will be happy admitting to later, but Stiles treasures them, dropping kisses like rewards for every single one. Derek’s exhale sounds almost painful as he finally stops coming inside of Stiles. His knot pulses out, as if testing its fortifications, the rub of it at Stiles entrance makes him cry out. He can hardly take it, he’s at the upper most limit of pleasure and pain, he’s so sensitive to the tiniest movement, it makes him sink his nails into Derek’s skin, lower his head into Derek’s neck as if he can hide there from everything he’s feeling. There’s no question that it’s too much.

“It’s too much, oh my god Derek, you’re so huge inside me, you’re everywhere, I feel you through my whole body, my head’s like a tingling foggy mess, my ears are ringing, it’s like I can hear the ocean in my head. I’m so close to you I open my eyes and I can see every pore, every grain of your stumble, every hair between your eyebrows, oh god you have a mono-brow. Fuck. Don’t laugh I can feel it, I can feel you laughing through your dick. Your laugh goes down your body to your dick and passes into me. Ahhhhh. Oh my god. It feels incredible. Ahhhh oh god. I can’t. I can’t take it. Uhhh Uhh. Uh Derek…”

Stiles is coming again – he hadn’t even fully taken on board he’d gotten hard again – but he’s shooting against Derek’s chest and his own, clinging to Derek, biting at his ear because it is conveniently placed and Stiles has to bite something. It makes Derek growl out, jolting his body up which sends shockwaves through Stiles again, he cries out, he can’t stop himself and blacks out.

He comes to with his head on Derek’s chest, they’re back horizontal and he’s lying fully on top of Derek, his ass still plugged by Derek’s cock. The orgasm helped a bit with the intensity of the knotting. He still feels it everywhere but it’s a more contented feeling, he curls his back a little so that he can settle back onto it a bit more comfortably. Derek grunts from below him.

“How long was I out?”

“Five minutes. Not long.”

Stiles nuzzles along Derek’s collar bone, licks up his neck. His ass feels sore and stretched and really fucking good. He puts his hands on Derek’s chest and raises himself up a little so he can look down at Derek. He looks so satisfied it’s incredible. It’s a completely foreign look on his face. His eyebrows are pointing in an opposite-to-usual direction. Stiles can’t help smiling down at him.

“How you doing down there?”

Derek just moves his hands to Stiles’s thigh, rubs up and down them like he’s doing some kind of physio massage. Stiles feels on top of the world. Sat up like this with Derek’s cock piercing straight up into him, Stiles can’t help but feel reckless and jubilant.

He moves experimentally on Derek’s cock, gasping out as the movement tests the knot, and he feels the wetness inside him. He makes small, hesitant circular movements at first, Derek’s come making it feel easier than it’s ever been to move like this on Derek’s cock. The jostling of the liquid seems to provoke the base of Derek’s cock to expand a little further though, to press itself to the edges of Stiles’s walls. Stiles groans at the feel of that. Of Derek determined not to lose a millimetre of ground inside him. Stiles keeps trying to move, it feels necessary suddenly. He grunts out heavily every time Derek’s cock rubs against his prostate, he keens towards Derek a little further every time it happens. Derek lies still, perfectly, frighteningly still below him. He stares at Stiles with his badest, intensest Alpha stare. Eyes so red again. Stiles starts riding Derek in earnest, hands finding purchase on Derek’s shoulders, balancing him as he rocks himself backwards and forwards, there’s no way he can go up and down, so he just tries to crush his insides down and up without moving his ass. He clenches himself around Derek, hits the sweet spot over and over. He’s hard again and he still doesn’t touch his dick, he doesn’t want to distract himself from this feeling, he wants to come from this fullness over and over again. He rocks himself faster and then suddenly Derek’s hand is on his cock, stripping it hard and fast like he wants to steal Stiles’s orgasm for himself and Stiles’s is coming again, head flung back, crying out, possibly even to the moon, the glorious, benevolent, beautiful beautiful moon that let him have this.

Derek chooses this moment to fling them over, grabbing Stiles ass cheeks and landing him on his back on the bed. Stiles cries out again at the sensation of it, but the high from his orgasm means he doesn’t register any pain or even discomfort as the knot drags against his entrance. Derek is licking into his mouth almost immediately. He’s rutting into Stiles again, small, shallow movements that don’t really go anywhere due to how far inside Stiles Derek already is. Derek is grunting on every thrust, the little clenches that come with Stiles’s aftershock contract around Derek’s cock. It’s all too much for Stiles, in his head all he can hear is the flatline of a heartrate monitor. It feels like maybe Derek’s cock is the resuscitator paddle-things sending sharp shockwaves round Stiles’s body.

Derek cries out above him, starts coming again inside Stiles and Stiles is so full of come already he feels kind of sick, he doesn’t know where it will all go, he wonders if eventually he could choke it all up, which is pretty much the grossest thought he’s ever had except it’s followed by the thought that Derek would probably lick it right out of his mouth. And wow that’s grosser.

Derek is pawing at Stiles’s body, using his mouth to lick and bite everywhere. It feels like he wants to crawl inside Stiles’s skin somehow. He’s emptying himself into Stiles for the second time, he’s howling into Stiles’s neck, full on howling, mouthing at Stiles’s skin. Stiles feels again like he doesn’t know how to withstand this level of intensity. He’s come three times already and all he can do is cling to Derek, cling and cling and hope the knot never goes down so he won’t have to move. The problem with the ridiculous amazingness of this is that it’s going to end at some point and Stiles will have to let go and live in his own skin again and be empty. He feels like he would fight that so hard. He bites into Derek’s shoulder.

“I’m never letting go of you.”

Derek chuckles a little.

“Oh god, Derek, laughing! Stop it. Agghhhh.” The laughter is still electrifying Stiles’s spine.

“Sorry.” Derek kisses him lightly trying not to move at all. Stiles orgasm really didn’t decrease his sensitised levels at all this time.

“Let’s just hold still, as still as possible for a while.” Stiles pleads. He doesn’t know how much more of this his body can take. He wonders if it will just shut down soon. He looks up at Derek with imploring eyes.

“Okay. Don’t worry. We’ll just stay like this.” Derek reassures him, one hand gently petting Stiles’s head.

They wait. Derek holds himself above Stiles. Barely touching him apart from where they’re joined. Stiles legs are wide, feet resting on the bed. He looks up at Derek, wonders at him, at the strength he has holding himself still like this. Stiles looks down between them, over his own cock, fascinated by the image of Derek disappearing within him. Derek’s cock is a low throb within him. He feels his pulse, his and Derek’s together, disseminating out from the point where they’re joined. It’s slow and strong and he breathes out in time with it.

He holds himself still around Derek. He holds, he holds. It’s luxurious. It’s never-ending. And then he breaks. It comes out in a croaked sounding voice,



Derek doesn’t. Stiles feels like he might burst again.

“Derek. Derek. Please God sweet Mary Joseph Jesus Lord why am I not religious MOVE.”

“Where?” Derek asks calmly. Like he’s not as desperate to climb all over Stiles as his eyes suggest.

“Ahhrhrrggg.” Stiles cries out at the unfairness of it all. “Aaarrgggh.” How could he want so much when he’s the fullest, the most sated, the most gloriously known he’s ever been? He starts to feel the size of Derek’s knot reducing. It makes Stiles frantic. He ruts against Derek, pulls at his ass, trying to cram Derek further into him. Derek moves, (thank god), thrusting quick and deep, determined not to lose any ground. Stiles doesn’t know what he’s doing, it’s not like either of them can come again, he’s barely hard and yet he can’t stop himself wanting it. Wanting to keep it.

The first moment Derek’s knot slips out Stiles lets out a wail of disappointment. Derek pushes straight back in, fills him again, hones in on Stiles’s prostate. The knot goes down some more and Derek begins to move more easily in and out of Stiles, the rub of the knot as it enters and leaves him and enters him again feels so good to Stiles. He’s hard again pretty quickly although his cock would probably be screaming out its protest if it could. Derek’s making loud, effortful sounds as he pumps into Stiles, he pounds mercilessly as if fighting the withdrawal of his knot. And Stiles loves it. Wants it so badly. He’s clawing at Derek’s sides. He comes with a soundless scream, like his orgasm is wrenched from his body. Derek contracts over him in a mirror of Stiles’s agony. He slips out of Stiles and falls beside him on the bed.

Neither of them can move. They’re not even touching. Every bone and muscle and nerve ending feels like it’s on fire. Stiles hears his own heavy breaths as if from a distance, like he’s been winded and his body is struggling to get air back in. Slowly he attempts to get his breathing in time with Derek’s. Derek whose recovery time is like, nill. Who’s already breathing like he took a brisk walk in the park, rather than knotting his mate in heat for hours on end.

There are going to be days of this? Oh god. Stiles will die. He’ll actually die. And his dick will fall off. And the autopsy will remark on how unfeasibly stretched his ass was.

Stiles can’t move. He looks over at Derek. Derek at least looks wrecked too, sweat covered and drenched in Stiles’s come. Stiles thinks he will lick it off him. Soon. Sometime soon. Sometime after he’s slept.

Stiles sleeps for about three hours. It’s an extremely pleasant dream, a dream in which Derek is kissing all over his body starting at the nape of his neck, moving down his spine. Derek spends quality time at the small of his back doing a nuzzle-lick thing that Stiles’s sleeping self approves of immensely. The dream gets a little hot and achey when Derek’s tongue runs a little lower. Derek is gentle, oh so gentle with his tongue coasting over Stiles’s hole but Stiles makes tiny whimpery noises and curls up on himself a little more. He’s asleep so he can’t quite remember why he’s so sensitive, why he feels so fragile and fragmented. He knows he’s missing something but it’s just a sense, nothing defined. Cool hands wash over him, turn him over with purpose, Derek noses at Stiles’s cock, laps at it, gentle, gentle. Stiles lets his hands go down to rest on Derek’s head. He feels less like he’s dreaming now and he wonders if his hands are supposed to encourage Derek or stop him. His body is giving him too many signals. This feels languid and pleasant and yet something behind that, something that aches with need feels too bright for Stiles to look at in his blissfully asleep state.

“Wake up.” Derek calls softly to him. “Stiles. Wake up.”

Stiles opens his eyes to see Derek looking up at him from his position way down Stiles body. Stiles tugs him up to face level. Derek kisses the sleep from Stiles’s eyes. Probably not literally but it feels like it. They kiss quietly, unhurried but when Stiles moves a little beneath Derek he suddenly feels Derek’s hardness push against his thigh. He looks down to see Derek’s cock, far harder and needier looking than Derek’s kisses would suggest. He looks back up at Derek’s face, catches the faint line of sweat on Derek’s brow, eyes a little too innocently wide. Stiles’s eyes widen to match, he’s thinking about how much Derek is holding back from him right now.

“Thinking of starting without me?” Stiles asks.

“No.” Derek’s voice is still quiet but this time Stiles hears the intensity behind it. Oh god. Round two is going to be awesome and five thousand times more insane. It’s something like 3 or 4 am Stiles reckons. Definitely the time to go bat-shit crazy with the moon.

“Tie me up.” Stiles demands.

Derek’s eyebrows rise.

“I’m serious Derek. Get a tie or a scarf or something. Tie me up.” Stiles warms to his theme. “And blindfold me.”

Derek pulls himself up off the bed and Stiles bounces into the middle properly. Sleep? What? He gets himself comfy. Derek comes back to the bed with two scarves, both kind of silky which Stiles would prefer not to question right now.

Derek ties Stiles hands above him to one rung of the bed frame with one of the scarves. He settles himself above Stiles chest, kisses both Stiles eyes again. His hands are kind of fumbling for a werewolf as he wraps the second scarf around Stiles head, ties the scarf at the side and pulls it down properly over Stiles’s eyes. It’s not actually that good as a blindfold, Stiles can still make out the vague shape of Derek through the light material but it feels kind of nice against his skin and the sensation of having his vision distorted makes Stiles feel like he’s in some sort of parallel universe. He feels kind of floaty and disconnected from his body. Derek is moving down that body of his now, thumbing Stiles open again, letting a finger test his rim, push inside him. Stiles feels his body respond, stretch out, feels his back arch upwards into Derek’s space. Derek pushes Stiles legs out, and Derek’s hands feel huge as they rub up and down the insides of Stiles’s thighs. Stiles can barely imagine what he must look like, hands tied above him, eyes blindfolded, legs so open, ass so wide. Derek’s hands and mouth roam freely, with impunity over Stiles’s body, caress after caress getting firmer, up Stiles’s arms, over his chest, under him – pulling his body up more as Derek’s tongue travels down the centre of him. Derek’s mouth stops at his cock, takes Stiles again in his mouth, sucks Stiles to hardness again and Stiles feels his body stuttering, unsure of whether to trust how good this feels right now.

“Hhnnnng Derek.” Stiles calls out, his blindness somehow making him louder.

“Derek come up to me.”

Derek comes up, kisses Stiles mouth. His kiss feels urgent, like all of Derek’s restraint is coming out in his kiss. Stiles can’t be doing with that. He’s here for the taking, tied up and open.

“Derek. We’re good. Let’s go.” He bucks a little, just to be encouraging.

Stiles can’t really believe he’s signing up for more, but what the hell, its sex. He likes it. Especially with Derek.

Derek inches into him. Stiles can’t see him but he can feel him vibrating above him, through him now as he slowly pushes in. Stiles lets out a wail that is half-satisfaction, half-indignation at being entered again when he’s still so raw from the first time but he’s lubed up to the max and there’s still a fair amount of Derek’s come slipping around inside him too so he figures he’s good on that front. It’s probably the easiest Derek’s ever entered him. He starts to worry that maybe, when they’re done, he’ll never tighten up again, that would be awkward. And then Derek angles himself the right way inside Stiles and he forgets to care about anything else but chasing that feeling again.

Stiles feels his arms pull against their bonds as he naturally tries to reach for Derek. He realises how much his arms usually help keep the rhythm going, help Stiles angle himself how he wants it. Now it’s totally down to Derek and Stiles can’t chase his own pleasure in the same way, must let Derek control how their bodies fit. Still, Stiles can’t stop the way he tests the restraints, pumps his hips up, wraps his legs around Derek. He throws his head back, keeps writhing up under Derek, tries to let himself feel everything. Derek is smooth and strong, his teeth graze Stiles’s neck and jaw line, he’s burying himself within Stiles and he has one hand on Stiles’s cock, moving in abrupt, thoughtless grasps in time with his thrusts. Stiles knows his mouth is open, knows his neck is bared, knows he’s making shameless sex noises, hears Derek grunting out his exertion as well. He’s past caring – about pretty much everything. It feels like there is water roaring in his head when he comes, great gushing, crashing waves that send him under water. He floats there happily, in no hurry to get to the surface. He feels weightless with little ripples of pleasure circling round his body.

Eventually he realises something is holding him, tethering him and pulling him to the surface.

“Derek?” He calls out, because he’s opened his eyes but he still can’t see properly.

“’m here.” Derek says, mouth at Stiles’s cheek. They kiss and it feels like resuscitation. Derek has knotted him again, they’re stuck here, Stiles can feel Derek is still coming inside him, can feel it in the headiness of his kiss, his confused, demanding tongue swirling with Stiles’s. Stiles wants his hands back, wants his eyes, wants to see Derek like this, touch him back, run a reassuring hand up his back, hold him to him. But he doesn’t ask for it, not yet. He holds out, because he also likes it, this feeling, having Derek pour himself into Stiles, taking from Stiles like Derek never usually lets himself do, taking everything for himself. Derek is gathering Stiles up in his arms, holding his body up off the bed, pressed to Derek so Stiles is held, stretched parallel between the bonds at his wrists and his ass trapped on Derek’s cock. He is floating – his body isn’t touching the bed at all. Derek’s strength is awe-inspiring. Stiles feels insane. He’s blind and without gravity. He lets his head hang all the way back, blood-rushing into it. He thinks he cries out but he’s too out of his body to really know.

Derek’s face buries itself in Stiles neck, his stubble tickles, his lips bruise. It feels like Derek could take root inside Stiles. Stiles’s ass aches, Derek’s cock is huge, its pushed so far into Stiles it’s almost like suffocating, the knot is tight at the base, pushing insistently within Stiles. Derek lowers Stiles back to the bed, just rocks them, quietly, holding Stiles to him, hands tight around his back hooked over Stiles’s shoulders. Stiles feels himself come back down to earth slowly, his muscles quiver all over, his shoulder blades pushed together as his arms stretch up behind his head, his fingers grip the head board where his wrists are tied, his back muscles are arched into Derek’s embrace, his legs shake from the effort of holding them wide around Derek and his ankles are straining where they are hooked behind Derek. He shakes and shakes and he feels the trembling where they’re joined, knows it must be torturing Derek.

“Stiles, Stiles.” Derek gets out, and it does sound sort of desperately pained but Stiles can’t stop his body’s natural reaction to this situation it’s in, however voluntary.

Stiles’s body tremors particularly strenuously and it earns him another, harsher, “Stiles!”

“Okay, okay, untie me.” Stiles relents. And Derek leans up carefully, one hand at Stiles hip, guiding the movement of their joined bodies as Derek reaches for Stiles’s wrists. The angle is too intense and Stiles cries out with it. Derek’s cock is lodged mercilessly against his prostate as Derek struggles to undo the scarf.

“Ah ah ah ahhhhh Derek. Ahhhh,” Stiles yells out eloquently. He’s kind of seeing stars and he feels his orgasm ripping through him and then his arms are free and Derek is moving back and Stiles’s arms reach senselessly for Derek to hold him there as he comes violently, pathetically. Derek’s apologising above him, even as he’s clutching Stiles to him and coming inside him again, and Stiles tears off the blindfold so he can see Derek, so he can try and make sense of what just happened, what’s still happening. He sees Derek looking just as blindsided as he feels. The knot expands again inside Stiles, as if it needed to, locking them even tighter together. Derek throws his whole body backwards so Stiles is on top and he has to unlock his ankles quickly to stop them getting squashed under Derek. They move smoothly, thanks to Derek’s strength but it still feels jarring as Stiles settles over Derek, he’s uncomfortably full of cock and come and he’s so floored by his latest orgasm that he can barely hold himself up. He folds himself over Derek, elbows on the bed either side of his neck.

“Oh my god.” He keeps saying over and over, “Oh my fucking god.” He doesn’t know how Derek’s cock can still be hard within him. Stiles’s cock is soft and empty between them, Stiles kind of feels sorry for how forlorn it’s looking right now. Meanwhile Derek’s cock is ramrod straight inside him, it’s really the only thing holding him up at all, his spine is jelly and his head is so heavy it needs Derek’s shoulder to keep it in place.

Stiles drifts towards sleep. He dreams about buttplugs. He’s wearing one at school and he’s wiggling on his chair with the discomfort of it but no one notices because he’s Stiles so he’s always moving. He’s wearing it at dinner with his dad and he blushes furiously the whole time but he can’t help squirming down on the chair, clenching his butt to make sure it stays in. Then he dreams he’s having one of those awkward chats with Allison’s dad where they’re supposedly talking about the weather or schoolwork but actually they’re talking about werewolves and the many ways Chris Argent can cause them all pain. Chris gives Stiles this look which is all sardonic and knowing and Stiles freezes feeling completely exposed in front of him and then suddenly it’s not a buttplug inside him but Derek’s cock and they’re still standing in front of Chris but Derek is plastered to Stiles back and Stiles decides to wake up before dream-Derek decides to do anything mortifying like offer him a reach around while Allison’s dad is still watching.

He wakes up with a bit of a shudder. He’s still on top of Derek, Derek’s still inside him but much softer now and more because he hasn’t bothered to pull out than because he can’t. Derek’s breathing is slow and gentle, like he’s sleeping too. Stiles loves the feeling of how they’re joined even as they sleep, despite it giving him strange dreams about Chris Argent and sex toys. Waking up with the heavy weight of Derek’s cock inside him gives Stiles such a strong sense of bodily satisfaction, he feels used in the best way and full of a languid pleasure thrumming steadily through him.

He mouths at Derek’s chin and jaw and lips as he starts to test his muscles experimentally to see if he has any strength to move yet. It feels unnatural to be exerting his heavy, achey body but it also feels good, like the day after coach makes them run suicides. Stiles is suddenly delighted to be awake, impaled on a sleeping Derek, he doesn’t think that’s happened before so naturally he decides to take advantage.

As gently as he can he eases himself off Derek’s cock. The absence feels a little odd, not unpleasant but fresh and kind of airy and he’s suddenly more aware of his utter nakedness in the cold silence of the room. He looks back down at Derek who’s huffing out warm breaths as he sleeps. Derek curls up a little around himself as his body adjusts to the loss of Stiles. Stiles is momentary distracted from His Plan, by the novelty of having his body back all to himself. He feels the need to do some stretches and star-jumps or something. He’s endorphin central all of a sudden as him mind flashes through images of the night so far. It’s morning now, early. He’s not usually awake at this time and it feels exciting like he’s a step ahead of the world, got something no one else has. Which is true. He has Derek and his freaky-freaky-beautiful cock. Of all the things he thought he would be in his life, of all the things he thought he would get. Derek and the Nights of Endless Passion were not things he thought he could ever have. Of course, that’s partly because those things only exist in Celine Dion songs and perhaps the accompanying music video. But then Stiles hadn’t counted on all the other nights sat up worried about a packful of young, thoughtless werewolves, and even more nights out trying to keep everyone safe and sensible and thinking. From that perspective, Stiles is owed tonight. And some.

With that in mind he remembers the Plan. The I-am-a-teenager-there-is-no-such-thing-as-too-much-sex-let-me-prove-it-to-you-big-guy P.L.A.N. Oh yes. Stiles limbers himself once more, stretching his thigh and calf muscles and doing a few windmill arms. He scrambles back onto the bed and allows himself a little fairwell nuzzle at Derek’s neck and then he turns himself to straddle Derek so he’s facing Derek’s feet. Gently again he ghosts his hands over Derek’s cock, it’s not hard in a demanding kind of way but it’s a long way from flaccid. He figures he has nothing to lose by clambering aboard. He lowers himself gently onto Derek who breathes out a long happy-sounding sigh as he goes. Stiles feels Derek’s fingers flicker against his hip, knows Derek’s starting to wake up. He wonders what he’ll be like now the sun is coming up, he imagines the compulsion to knot will be less but then this peak-time is supposed to last days so he can’t be sure.

He seats himself fully on Derek’s cock, slides his ass down a little so it feels comfortable inside him. For a minute he just stays there, lets his head fall back, glorying in the fullness, he slides his hands down his body, over his abdomen to his cock. He thinks he’d quite like to just sit here, stroke himself to completion while Derek’s still half asleep, a cheeky orgasm to start the day. He reaches down to fondle his balls, and gathers up Derek’s too while he’s at it, the pleasant way they crush together in his hands feels unbelievably good. He fiddles with them happily until he can’t take the pressure in his cock anymore and has to move one hand back up to attend to it. He comes quickly and quietly, the grip of Derek’s hands on his hips tightening just a little as he does. He grinds down on Derek’s cock as he comes, trying to see if he can tell if Derek’s any closer to being awake. Derek groans, quiet and desperate but when Stiles gives up and looks round, Derek hasn’t opened his eyes. Stiles lets himself fall forwards so his hands can hold him up as he recovers from his orgasm. Tight flushes of pleasure skitter through him and he has headrush with how tired and weak and good he feels all at once. He lets himself roll off Derek and he’s kind of disappointed Derek’s not awake after that so he gives up on phase two of the plan for now (it mostly centred on Derek’s asshole but Stiles wants him to be awake for it). He heads for the sink in the kitchen instead. He may as well attempt to get a little clean if he’s got the time.

It turns out he doesn’t. He gets a maximum of three feet from the bed on his own power before he’s barrelling forward and being crushed into the wall by the full weight of a searing hot werewolf. There’s a growl at his ear, “You started without me.”

“I finished without you.” Stiles huffs into the wall. He’s having a breathing problem but he doesn’t have time to concentrate on it because Derek is cramming his cock back inside Stiles and Stiles is fucking sensitive from just having come but Derek seems completely unaware of Stiles’s overly-sensitized, non-oxygenated state, he doesn’t back up off Stiles at all. Instead he’s thrusting once, twice, voice gritting out a terse, “We’re not done.” And then Derek’s coming powerfully inside him and the knot is back with a vengeance, tying Stiles in place. Stiles has a moment of panic where he thinks he might actually die and then he manages to scramble up the wall enough to throw his head back onto Derek’s shoulder and gulp in some huge, lung-relieving breaths.

“Fuuuuck. Derek. Fuck. Oh my god.” The head rush is back and he’s speaking mostly just to abate his panic about not being able to breathe. Derek is pressing his face into Stiles bared neck, mouth sucking and biting at the skin there and Stiles regains enough clarity to think how much he must have misjudged Derek’s sleeping-state when he pulled off him. He’s trapped between Derek and the wall of the room – pretty much the definition of a rock and a hard place in Stiles’s book. Derek is using his entire body to press Stiles against the wall, one hand on his thigh pulling his leg out so Derek can get better access. Stiles is already on his tip toes from trying to put his head back on Derek’s shoulder so he feels completely off balance, held up by the two immovables in front and behind him. His cock is trapped painfully down crushed into the wall. He tries to push back a little onto Derek’s cock but he’s going nowhere. Fuck, his neck is being demolished by Derek’s mouth, Derek’s come is shooting inside Stiles and the knot is tight against the walls of Stiles’s passage. He’s completely at Derek’s mercy. Derek starts rubbing them against the wall, groaning out his release over and over. Stiles can’t help but agree. He knows that somewhere in the stratosphere he is letting out crazed whimpering sounds to match Derek groan for groan. He thinks he comes again against the wall.


At last Derek lets up and hauls them back a little. He keeps his hands out to steady them and Stiles basically faceplants into the wall as his head slides off Derek’s shoulder. They’re still knotted together, of course. Stiles bangs his fists on the wall in a pathetic attempt to recall himself to his body. Derek’s hands snake down the wall and around Stiles, reeling him up a little so they slot back spine to chest. Derek’s mouth is attending to the back of Stiles’s neck now.

“Sorry,” Derek grunts out, “You okay?”

“Now you ask?” Stiles mutters weakly. “’m fine. Just trouble breathing there for a while you know.”

“Shit.” Derek sounds really contrite. He tries to move back from Stiles but it jars the knot and they both cry out.

“Ah Christ don’t!” Stiles squawks. “I’m fine. Oh my god, you’ve killed me. I’m actually dead from the sex. I feel high. I feel like your cock is injecting some kind of endorphin overdose into my system from which I have now died. Oh jesus, your cock, it owns me it really thinks it owns me and it’s personal mission is to devastate my whole body so that it can’t exist without your cock in me. Fuck fuck aahhhh.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” Derek’s voice murmurs into Stiles’s neck, coming out muffled but still very sincere. His grip around Stiles is tight again. Stiles rests his head against the now rather sweaty wall and listens to his heart beat in time with the pulsing of Derek’s cock which defines everything right now.

“No,” he says after a pause he doesn’t know how long, “Don’t be sorry. This is perfect.” It’s weird how much he means it. Derek nips at his neck in acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything more. They stay there, standing locked together while Derek finished coming. Stiles just lets himself hang there, tries not thinking about anything at all for a while.

Finally he says, “We could be here a while, eh?”

Derek stirs against him, kisses his shoulder. “A couple of hours perhaps.” His voice is quiet like he’s trying not to disturb their peace. There’s another kiss, to Stiles’s ear this time. “Do you want to try and get more comfortable?”

Stiles nods his head against the wall. “The floor maybe?” The bed feels a long way off and Stiles doesn’t really like either of his waddle-together or get-carried options.

“Okay.” Derek agrees and he grips tight around Stiles’s waist as they sink down towards the floor. Stiles feels the knot tighten as they go, it’s such a strange feeling, to be tied together so insistently. He’s ready for the pull of it, so even though they kind of fall the last bit to the ground, it’s not too bad.

Stiles can’t help the, “Hnnn Derek,” that escapes him as he settles himself on his side and nestles back against Derek’s chest. He turns his head up, he’s kind of missing Derek’s face by now. Derek leans up on his elbow so he can look at Stiles properly. They smile at each other kind of shyly for a minute before they’re kissing, soft, beautiful kisses that Stiles worries are more devastating than Derek’s knot. Stiles reaches his arm up awkwardly to caress Derek’s cheek, grazing his stubble, he won’t pretend it’s not a caress because that’s exactly what it is. Derek is inside him, has tied himself to Stiles in the most physical way possible but it couldn’t feel less animalistic right now, it just feels unutterably wonderful to Stiles.

Derek angles himself up further to kiss Stiles more thoroughly and the angle of the knot changes, pulling at Stiles hole making him groan into Derek’s mouth. He wishes he could turn around properly, that they were still face to face. He pets Derek’s cheek, “Stop, stop. I can’t come again yet and your dick is going to make me want to.”

Derek moves back a little so he’s settled more comfortably behind Stiles. His fingers trace lightly up and down Stiles’s spine in between their bodies. It feels amazing.

“Did your mum ever do that to you when you were young?” Stiles asks. And then to clarify that he doesn’t mean kissing or knotting or anything weird or incesty he says, “You know, run her fingers over your back like tickling or spell out words for you to guess?”

Stiles can remember how his mum used to do that to him when he was very little, and then again at the end, when he would lie beside her on the hospital bed and she was so weak but could still gently trace her fingers over his back and spell out little messages for him into his skin.

Derek’s fingers still, Stiles waits and he knows when the “yes” comes that Derek’s remembering like Stiles is.

“Keep going.” Stiles says and it comes out more like a question. “Let’s play the word game.”

Derek pulls himself up and kisses Stiles once, mouth heavy on his, full of their sadness, and then he draws back and runs his fingers over Stiles back again. At first it seems like he’s just doodling, maybe tracing Stiles’s moles or something and then he starts to write.

They play for what feels like hours. Derek’s cock is large and unrelenting inside Stiles and the knot never falters as it holds itself in place, giving off a steady throb-throb that Stiles’s body seems to glory in. He lets it thrum through him and he relaxes around it, concentrating on the gentle whisper of Derek’s fingers on his back. Derek writes things like ‘wolf’ and ‘rug’ and ‘door’ which are Scott-levels of unimaginative but he also writes things like ‘soft’ and ‘beautiful’ and ‘happiness’ which make Stiles’s eyes itch a little embarrassingly. When Stiles feels “V” and whispers out an awed, “I love you?” Derek just kisses the back of his neck and keeps spelling the e, y, o, u, before whispering, “Yes, you’re right.”

Stiles is overwhelmed by the weight of his feelings and he doesn’t know how else to deal with the sheer amount of things he wants to express. He’s starting to shake a little as he says, “Touch me.”

So Derek does. His fingers still feel gentle as they enclose Stiles’s cock but his grip gets surer as he starts to move it. Soon Stiles can’t stop himself from begging for more, it’s so much easier to think about how good this feels then how to process how much he feels for Derek, how much more he wants to believe in their belonging together than he usually lets himself. Derek responds by surging up over Stiles, lifting him to his knees and rocking into him with a steady, building rhythm that seems certain to chase all other thoughts out of Stiles’s brain. Derek’s hand strokes Stiles’s cock just as steadily, twisting his hand as he goes up and down. Stiles cries out as he comes and he knows the only word he says is ‘Derek’.

Derek comes too and plasters himself to Stiles back as he does. Stiles ends up crushed between Derek and the floor and it feels like it’s becoming a theme of the day to compromise Stiles’s breathing capabilities. This time it’s a slight relief to feel the knot lessening and as soon as Derek withdraws Stiles is squirming around beneath him and turning to kiss him properly. He’s too blissed out to even properly remember why it’s imperative that he do that right the hell now but it is and he does and the kiss is everything. He wraps his arms and legs around Derek and it feels like ages since he’s done that. It’s sloppy and strung out but the feel of Derek’s arms framing his head and his body cuddled against his is so goddamn gratifying that Stiles remembers what it is he’s feeling.

He stops kissing Derek to tell him, “You love me.”

It’s not quite an accusation. Derek grins at him. “I do. I love you.”

“Great.” Stiles says. “Me too, I love you.” It’s a little rushed out but it seems to work for Derek whose grin widens unfeasibly.

“Do we have some time?” Stiles asks, checking down between them where things appear relatively calm.

“We should do.”

“Great!” Stiles says as he scrambles out from under Derek and gets to his feet. “Let’s shower then.” For some reason Stiles thinks he could be the one to run round the house four times and not get out of breath this time.