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Fuse

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So after a long and grueling period of tentative courtship, meaningful gazes and falling down from windows (though that was once, okay) Stiles and Derek are together at last.

Stiles would be much happier about that if the universe did not decide to epically cockblock them.

First there was that other pack, and then that shit with the kelpies - never mind, honestly. The point is that after a month of being nominally together, Stiles has yet to progress beyond handholding, brief kisses and some groping.

That is not on. Stiles has been patient, he's been gracious, and this mountain is covered with wolves - er, or rather, the house is full of werewolves who can hear everything he and Derek get up to.

Stiles eyes Derek, who's standing across the kitchen, wetting the corner of his undershirt and wiping the worst of the day's dirt with it. A drop of water makes its way down, following the thickening trail of hair on Derek's stomach into his jeans, slow like it's clinging to Derek's abs and Stiles can't blame it one bit.

Fuck it, Stiles thinks in a fit of sudden clarity. He raises his eyes to meet's Derek, whose eyebrows furrow in consternation. "Stiles," he says.

It's meant to be a warning, probably. Only Stiles developed too high a tolerance for risky situations, and warnings just sound like invitations to him. He rounds up on derek, who is now holding the kitchen counter so hard he's denting it with his fingers.

"The entire pack will be able to hear us," Derek says.

Stiles smirks. "Guess you're gonna have to keep quiet, then," and he slides to his knees.

Derek is unnaturally still in front of him. It's not fair, not like Derek even cares; Derek barely understands what privacy even is. It's Stiles, normally, who shrinks away from roving hands in public, fumbling buttons closed and blushing when anyone walks into the room. But he can smell Derek, so close to him. Stiles' mouth waters, hanging open in a way that cannot be attractive.

Whatever: it obviously still works, as Derek swallows and peels his zipper down without argument. Stiles hums without meaning to and wraps his mouth around Derek's cock.

Stiles sucks instinctively, eyes fluttering shut. Fuck, he's been thinking about it for ages, and it doesn't come close to comparing. He's never sure where to put his hands when they make out, but it seems all Stiles need to feel at home is to have something in his mouth.

Apparently, his warning to Derek was unwarranted. Even muffled as he is, Stiles is louder than Derek, all obscene slurping and humming sounds, gone far past caring about anything but Derek's taste and his hands on Stiles' scalp. Pushing, because Derek needs this too, as much as he tries to pretend he's beyond ordinary human lust. The minute thrusts of his hips betray him, the faint whistle of air through Derek's teeth as he suppresses gasps. The drips of precome turning into a steady trickle, filling Stiles' mouth.

Stiles loves the change in taste when Derek starts leaking, gets perilously close to coming himself when he feels Derek's cock twitch and harden even further. Stiles presses his lips tighter, moving them over the hot skin of Derek's shaft.

Whimpers when Derek pushes him away by his forehead: "Wait-- why, what--"

And Derek growls, "Wanna hear you," rucking Stiles' shirt up to rub off the rest of the way against his stomach as Stiles rides Derek's thigh, head thrown back, gasping at the roughness of Derek's jeans against his tender cock. Everything is too raw, like Stiles is going to be flayed alive by the end of this, and he couldn't stop if that were literally true.

Couldn't, couldn't, and then he clutches Derek close and ruts, howling, getting come all over both of them.

"Next time you come in my mouth," Stiles rasps as soon as he recovers.

"Next time get a fucking room, oh my God," Jackson yells from upstairs.

Stiles doesn't even flinch in response, too fucked out to care. He cards his fingers through Derek's hair as Derek turns them around to lazily lap at the mingled streaks of their come on Stiles' stomach, his teeth grazing Stiles' fragile human skin, humming in contentment.