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Stiles is kneeling at the base of the bed, head lowered, almost touching his chest, his hands are resting on his thighs, fingertips twitching every-now-and-again.

Derek can see how his body thrums from where he stands in the doorway and he has to resist the urge to shift, is sure Stiles can feel eyes on his naked back even as the hairs at the base of his neck rise and goosebumps pebble his arms.

It's the first time they've done this – not the sex, no, they've been doing that for months, since after the alpha pack left, but the... submission, the giving of control, that's new.

 

Stiles had been twitchy and loose limbed, knocking things over and tripping, after they'd finally (finally) managed to remove the Alpha Pack, twitchy in a way he hadn't been in months.

The pack had noticed but hadn't said anything, all breathing easy and relaxing after weeks of training and fighting and pain, but Derek had noticed, been drawn, confused, to the way Stiles had started to hold himself.

Stiles had been more still, calm, after they'd started sleeping together, started talking, and doing things like a couple, but there were still moments, moments where Stiles would started twitching, would send off waves of frustration and something that smelt like sadness, but more bitter, more confused, and no matter how hard Derek thought, or how much he focused on what could have caused Stiles to feel like that, there wasn't anything.

It's Stiles who brings it up first, when sex and training with the pack only help for a few hours at the most.

They'd just eaten, and the house had been quiet apart from the television Isaac made Derek buy, and he can remember how Stiles had tried to hold himself still, how he'd been stiff and had chewed his lip, and Derek had been getting ready to say something, to find out what was wrong, was it Derek? Something he'd done? When Stiles had sighed, slumped against the sofa and twisted until he'd been facing Derek.

And Derek had waited, focused on Stiles, a heavy hand on his knee, not restricting but comforting and Stiles had bit his lip and-

“Can we...” Derek can remember the way Stiles had swallowed, hard, how he'd averted his eyes and how his heartbeat was so fast, “Can we try something? Something different, something I think I... need.”

 

Derek had said yes. Of course.

They'd both researched, figured out what they'd both be comfortable with, chosen safe words and planned it out, until they were both ready.

But Derek is nervous, now, when Stiles is naked and kneeling and ready. He's scared of messing this up, of ruining it for Stiles, or hurting him, doing something wrong that he doesn't like. He's scared of what this could mean for them.

And then Stiles tenses, like he's scared Derek has changed his mind, or that he's done something wrong, Derek doesn't know, but he's promised Stiles, promised himself, that they'd try this, and he's hard from just staring at Stiles like this and can smell Stiles' arousal, musky and strong,-

Derek steps further into the room, and closes the door behind him, his feet silent as he walks to Stiles.

“You're doing so well.” Derek's almost touching Stiles now, the rough fabric of his jeans rubbing along Stiles' arm as he walks past. His voice is raw, wrecked.

Stiles relaxes under the praise.

They won't use words like “Good boy.” or “Sweetheart.”, Derek can't force himself to even speak them, and Stiles hates being called boy, had said once, “I get it, I'm young, but I've seen more than most people double my age have seen, I am not a boy.” and Derek, it reminds Derek of Kate, and what he has with Stiles is good, and safe, not fire and lust and sweet mocking words like Kate.

 

“So well,” Derek repeats, quieter now.

He runs a hand over Stiles buzz cut head, rubs his thumb along a sharp cheekbone, before thumbing over Stiles' bottom lip.

He can see Stiles hesitate before his eyes flick up to Derek's, almost like seeking permission and Derek nods, just a short bob of his head, but it's enough and then there's a wet heat on his thumb.

Stiles alternates between nips of his teeth and hollowing his cheeks and Derek's breathing heavy already, lets Stiles give one last suck before he removes his thumb, smiling briefly when Stiles whines.

 

“On the bed.” Derek says, and Stiles blinks sluggishly for a moment, before he shifts to all fours, head lowered and hanging between his shoulders as he crawls onto the bed.

Derek swallows as he stands at the end of the bed, watches Stiles crawl until he's in the middle.

He can see where Stiles is wet and open from where he'd stretched himself before they started. Can see muscles shift as Stiles gets comfortable. His cock is hard and heavy between his legs and the top is glistening already with pre-come, but he doesn't make anymove to touch it, waits instead for Derek's command.

 

“Arms straight in front of you.” Derek's got his belt undone and his jeans and boxers half way down his thighs, but he pauses when Stiles shifts in the corner of his eyes, as he lifts onto his knees and lowers his chest until it's flush with the bed, lifts his arms in front of him, just like Derek said.

 

“You're so good.” Derek doesn't mean to say it, (not that he means it any less), he just knows Stiles will get all the meanings too it, feels vulnerable, but Stiles only makes a pleased noise, and turns his head to stare at Derek, his eyes almost black and his cheeks flushed, lips bitten red.

 

When Derek's out of his jeans and old t-shirt, Stiles eyes still on him, waiting and still hard, he lifts himself onto the bed, knees between Stiles' bent legs, shifting them till they're further apart.

Derek doesn't say anything, but runs his palms up Stiles' thighs, watches how goosebumps follow his fingers tips, rubs his thumbs between the crease of thighs meet cheeks and dips them closer to the middle, not touching his hole but close, and enjoys the way Stiles' breath hitches and gasps. Derek leans down, breath ghosting over Stiles' spine before biting down and sucking a mark, one arm wrapped under Stiles' stomach, hand spread over his heart. He can feel the way Stiles' heart beats faster, can feel the air leave him as he lets out a shocked moan, enjoys the way he rocks back, thigh catching on Derek's cock and Derek can't help that he bites down harder, not enough to draw blood, but enough to really feel it, before drawing back, hand whispering over Stiles' cock.

 

Stiles is wet and prepared from earlier, but Derek still reaches over for the lube, still wants to make sure, make sure he's really stretched and ready.

 

“What do you want?” And Derek's voice is wrecked, but he just wants to hear it, even has he runs the pad of his finger of Stiles' rim, as he slips one in, even though they've gone over this. Stiles can say no whenever he wants, can make as much noise as he wants unless Derek tells him to be quiet (but he wont, loves the noises Stiles makes too much), Stiles can tell Derek what he needs before they start and then Derek's in control, takes the lead and Stiles gives it over, gives himself and Derek protects it, cares for him.

 

Derek's got two fingers inside Stiles, but he's ready to pull them out, because Stiles hasn't said anything, but when he finally speaks, his voice is raw and broken.

“You, just you.” And thrusts back onto Derek's fingers, whining as they catch and drag over his prostate.

And Derek can't resist any longer, drags his fingers out and coats his cock with lube, shifts until he's lined up with Stiles and eases in, groans at the slick pull, the heavy scent of sex and them.

He tries to keep it slow, savours the feeling of slick wet heat, the sounds Stiles makes, constant moans and whines and how his hands are clenching in the pillow above his head, because Derek hasn't said to move them.

 

But it's not enough.

Stiles moans are almost needy and his back is taught, and Derek knows he needs more, slows his thrusts to a stop but stays inside.

“Kneel up.” Derek says, and Stiles scrambles to obey, even as his limbs are heavy, almost tips over before Derek wraps around around his chest, hauls him close to his own chest and rests back on his haunches.

There's not much room for movement like this, but Derek can lift his hand to wrap around Stiles throat, cup under his chin and rub over his pulse point, not enough to constrict his breathing, but just a pressure of there, and Stiles moans and clenches around Derek, lifting weakly and dropping back down.

“That's it, just like that, god, you're so good.” Derek doesn't realise he's talking, but the words are dripping from his mouth and Stiles is clenching on every other word, releasing high pitched whines through his nose and his nails are digging into Derek's arm around his stomach.

Stiles is trying to meet each of Derek's thrusts, it's faster and harder, and his cock is dripping and bouncing against his stomach and Derek's hand is still rubbing at his throat, but it's not until he bites where neck meets shoulder, that Derek feels Stiles go taught, watches through half-lidded eyes as his back bows, mouth open but no noise escaping, that Stiles finally comes, comes without any touch from Derek or his own hand.

Derek thinks he might say something like “Mine,” into the wet skin of Stiles neck when he comes, but he can't hear anything over the pulsing beat of his own heart, and the wet gasps Stiles is still making, can only hear and feel Stiles, the way his body twitches with sated aftershocks and how he's still spasmodically clenching around Derek.

 

When Derek can finally move, he lowers Stiles onto the bed, mindful of his come and they're both pretty much boneless and Stiles has a sleepy happy smile on his face, is staring at Derek like he's the best thing there is, and Derek's pretty sure he's grinning himself,

 

and then Stiles says “God, we are so doing that again.”