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Rooted in Place

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Their relationship begins as one giant cliché. Derek is minding his own business in the Starbucks down the street from his shop, when out of nowhere this kid comes flailing into him, and he’s suddenly covered in coffee.


He immediately goes to glare at the nuisance, and woah, okay, not actually a kid. Younger than him, yes, but clearly an adult. Wide brown eyes, long limbs, tiny freckles and obvious moles scattered across his face like stars. Derek is transfixed – this guy is prettier than any flower he’s ever dealt with.


And the guy is talking – babbling, really – and introducing himself. His name is apparently Stiles, and he’s really sorry about the coffee – “Seriously I’m such a klutz, I’m basically a walking disaster. I can pay for dry cleaning, if you need it. Do you need dry cleaning? Do you dry clean that material? What material even is this, because it’s really nice, not quite silk but-“ – and Derek cuts him off.


“It’s Rayon, actually. And you can make it up to me by allowing me to get you another drink,” he says, and Stiles smile is blinding.


The rest, as they say, is history. That one coffee date turns into multiple coffee dates, and then multiple dinner dates, and then months after they first meet Derek finds himself making room for Stiles’ meager belongings in his closet, in his home. Making room for Stiles in his life. And it’s so goddamn easy, being with him, that Derek doesn’t even mind.




It’s a bunch of little moments at first, that Derek doesn’t even take notice of at the time. It’s not until a while into this thing that he really looks back on them all, and realizes just how many signs there were. Like how Stiles was always eager to carry the bags if they were out shopping. Or how he’ll gladly carry Derek’s coat around if he gets too hot in it. Things like that, all things that can be explained away with simply having a caring partner. Nothing big at all.


It’s a little more unusual when Derek needs help with some new wall displays for his flower shop. It’s something he’s always done on his own, but now that he has Stiles – who works from home – to help him, it’s an even easier job. He’s able to have Stiles hold up all of the displays as he steps back and thinks about the placement. Stiles doesn’t say anything to him while he ponders where to put them all, simply taking orders when he’s directed to go somewhere, one time simply holding up a shelf for fifteen minutes as Derek goes over his diagrams again.


When they’re all up, Stiles gives him a huge kiss before heading back up to the apartment. Derek really should have noticed it then, he thinks.


So Derek gets used to handing Stiles things. He’s not always aware of it, and sometimes he finds himself surprised to see Stiles still standing in the kitchen holding an empty beer bottle he’d put in his hands an hour ago. One rainy day, he comes in and takes his jacket off quickly. He’s freezing, and doesn’t want to get Stiles wet, so he shoves his coat in his direction, mumbling at him to “take care of it”, wanting to head straight into the shower.


The water is warm, such a contrast from the near-freezing state of the rain outside, and while he’d only meant for it to be a quick shower, he finds himself staying in there for longer, allowing his bunched muscles to relax. Eventually the hot water begins running out, though, so he gets out.


Now warm and dry, and with the rain having stopped outside, he gets redressed and heads back towards the door. It’s then that he sees it.


Stiles is standing near the door, where he’d been when Derek had come in, and Derek’s wet jacket is hanging over his head. It looks like it’s been thrown there, and he vaguely realizes that he had thrown it at his boyfriend when he took it off. And Stiles hasn’t moved.


He hasn’t moved.


He knows his boyfriend must know he’s there, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s not particularly quiet as he puts on his boots directly in front of Stiles, but he still doesn’t move. Derek stands up in front of him, and takes in the utter stillness of his boyfriend. Stiles is never still – his mouth is always running off on some tangent, his limbs working overtime to help him explain what he’s talking about. It’s one of the many things that endears him to Stiles.


But he’s still now.


He doesn’t really think about it when he leaves Stiles standing there with his jacket over his head, just locks the door behind him and goes out back to finish planting. It probably takes him three hours, but when he comes back, Stiles is still waiting for him by the door. He takes his jacket off of his head and hangs it on the proper coat hook on the wall, and it’s like the dam breaks, and Stiles is suddenly all movement and noise again.


Derek thinks about it a lot that night, wide awake and staring at the ceiling. Usually Stiles is up long after him, but that night, his boyfriend falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.




He tests the waters with little things, after that. One night he has Stiles hold the remote for him while they’re watching TV, claiming that the table was too far away and he hates when it falls down the cracks between the cushions. His boyfriend doesn’t complain once, just holds his hand flat out in front of him, allowing Derek to take it whenever he wants to change the channel or volume. His hand doesn’t lower when the remote isn’t in it, just remains held out, waiting.


Next he does the same thing with a popcorn bowl, but a little more obvious. Instead of having Stiles hold it out in front of him, he has him hold it out in front of Derek, his arms keeping it carefully raised above the older man’s lap. Tells the kid that he hates having things in his lap for so long, though once again, Stiles doesn’t even complain. Despite the fact that he’s the only one eating it, Derek ends up getting up to refill it after an hour, and when he gets back, Stiles holds it out for him again.


He realizes that these things might make sense, though. A remote control and a bowl of popcorn are obvious things, so he changes it up a bit. Has Stiles hold his palm out flat with his cellphone on it, so that Derek can easily see every message that flashes across the screen. Next, he has him hold a book for him – not open or anything, just “in case he gets bored of watching TV”. Stiles accepts it easily.


He ups the stakes again.


Instead of sitting on the couch one night, he sits in the leather chair in the corner, nursing a beer. It’s even farther away from the coffee table than the couch is, and there isn’t a smaller table in the room to move towards it. He waits a few minutes into the movie, Stiles babbling away about the actors before holding the beer out slightly. “Come here and hold this, will you?”


Stiles’ jaw snaps shut. Not a single sound more, not a whine or a groan or anything, comes out of Stiles as he slips off the couch and goes to kneel beside Derek’s chair. He holds the beer at easy reaching height for Derek the rest of the movie, and even when Derek finishes the bottle, he gives it back to him to just hold.


They fuck hard that night, and Derek wants more.


Sitting at his desk, hunched over his laptop and notepads as he tries to figure out how many begonias he’ll need for some wedding arrangements a customer requested, he calls Stiles’ name. He doesn’t know what he’d been doing, but he must have been close by the office, because he shows up quickly.


He picks up his laptop, pens, and notebooks and pats the desk lightly. “I need a bit of a higher surface.” When he’s in place, lying on his back, Derek puts his laptop on his stomach, pens near his crotch, and begins working again. He finds Stiles isn’t flat enough, or hard enough for Derek to have his notebook on him, so Derek just bares part of his boyfriend’s stomach and writes on that. He takes pictures of it later, so he doesn’t lose his calculations – or at least, that’s what he tells his boyfriend they’re for.


And it’s so good.




According to Google, they need to talk about it. What they’ve been doing so far has been pretty innocent – holding a remote, or a coat, can be an almost commonplace thing. The desk thing, though, kind of maybe crosses a line. Actually using Stiles as a notebook definitely crosses something. So Derek Googles. And yea, a conversation needs to happen.


He’s never outright mentioned what they’re doing to Stiles before. It’s been a silent act of give and take – Derek just kind of tells Stiles to do something, his boyfriend does it without comment, and they don’t say anything else about it. But he loves Stiles, and he definitely doesn’t want to hurt him or go to far just because he was lazy or scared to discuss this with him, so he brings it up over dinner.


Derek has to clear his throat a lot before he can get a word out. “So, I was thinking that we should talk about the desk thing.”


Not the best start, but effective.


Stiles freezes, his fork halfway to his mouth, and swallows. “The desk thing?”


“And the other things,” Derek rushes out. “Like… kneeling with the beer, and everything else. The… coat thing?”


“Oh.” The younger man sits back in his chair, placing his fork down without taking the bite. He swallows again. “Do you… do you want to stop?”


“No, no,” Derek is quick to say. “I, uh, definitely don’t want it to stop. I like it? I mean, I enjoy it. I just… I uh, Googled.”


“You Googled.” Stiles is smiling now, and he would be worried that his boyfriend is making fun of him, except for the look he’s giving him. It’s a soft look, filled with warmth, like he’s so unbearably fond. It’s a good look. It also helps him say what’s next.


“Yea, I Googled. And, well, I read a lot. And what we’re doing is like… a thing. A thing that needs, like, negotiations and agreements. But, like, I also want to make sure you’re into it? Like I said, I definitely am,” he assures again, “but I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do. If we keep doing this, it’s a two-way street.”


Stiles sighs, and the fond look he’d been giving him throughout his little speech dims a little, but doesn’t quite leave.


“I don’t really know how to explain it,” he says. “You know I have ADHD. The adderall is shit, really, it’s never worked but I tried pretty much everything else they had to offer me for it and that one worked the best. I had a real problem with it in high school, took way too many and almost overdosed one time while I was studying for a chem exam. It was just… never enough. I couldn’t focus on anything.


“I’m better now,” he continues. “They said it would probably go away as I aged, and for the most part, they were right. It’s not gone – I still take my pills, as you know – but it’s manageable. Some days are better than others, but it’s never high school-level anymore.


“And when you,” he swallows again, looking down at the table almost shyly. “When you have me do things for you, it’s like… it gives me just one thing to focus on? Like, okay, I need to hold this remote. That’s my job right now, my purpose. My mind just goes silent and peaceful, and it’s never been like that before. Quiet, I mean. It makes it easier to sit still, too. If that makes sense.”


Derek nods carefully, and then steamrolls ahead. “So the remote thing is good, then. What about the coat thing?”


“It’s the same thing,” his boyfriend says. “I know you weren’t… actually telling me to stay there and keep it hanging on me, but it was like an out-of-body experience or something… it was good. Nice, it was nice.”


“Okay, we can keep doing all of that, then. Is there anything you wouldn’t want to do?”


“Well, I don’t really want anything painful. Like… no hitting or whatever. I definitely wouldn’t be calm during that.”


“I would never hurt you,” Derek rushes out. “The thought of hitting you just… no, no, definitely not going to do that.”


“Good,” he smiled again. “Other than that, I don’t know. I just… want you to do whatever, you know? How about we just agree that if you ever do something, and I don’t like it, I’ll just immediately stop and tell you? And if you want something big, we talk about it first?


“Something big?”


“Just… anything that you think might be a line? Just discuss it with me, like this.”


“Okay, I think – I mean know, I know I can do that.” He gulps, and soldiers on again. “What about the desk thing? That was more.”


“That was great, too. Down for that, like, anytime. Seriously.”


Well, alright; this was going better than Derek thought it would. “That’s good, we’ll keep doing that, then. With the coat thing… I left you alone like that for a while. Was that okay? Or should I stay in the room when I… do it?”


Stiles licks his lips. “It was different, I’ll admit, but a good different. All I could think about was… well, nothing really. I was thinking about nothing. I had nothing to think about. I just had to be, be a good coat hanger – not a boyfriend holding a coat, but like an actual coat hanger. Because that’s what you wanted me to be.”


Derek smiled. He could practically taste Stiles’ excited as he talked avidly about it. “So it’s okay if I make you do something or hold something and then leave?”




“Okay, then, there’s really only one more thing we need to discuss.” Stiles raises an eyebrow, and Derek shifts in his seat slightly. “Most of the websites, these things were about sex. And we haven’t done that yet, but I noticed you didn’t say anything about this… turning you on, so is it sexual? Do you want to make this part of our sex life?”


“Like, you using me for sex?”


He’s slow to respond. “Sort of. Not roughly or anything – no hitting, like I said – but maybe little things? I haven’t really thought about anything in particular.”


Stiles nods. “Okay, well, if something comes to you… that want to try, maybe just… do it. You know I’m vocal during sex. If I don’t like it, you’ll know. And, um, the other stuff, yea. It – it turns me on, I guess. Or at least, it’s just so nice? Kind of like when you get a massage, and it’s not necessarily sexual – no happy endings or whatever – but like, someone is rubbing their hands all over your body and hitting all of your pressure points and of course you get hard.”


“I’ve never had a massage. I don’t like strangers touching me.”


Stiles rolled his eyes. “It was just an example, you giant dork. I’m sure you can get the concept without having prior knowledge.”


Derek laughed, smiling widely. “Yea, yea I get it. Okay, so, we’re good then?”


“We are fantastic. All systems go on the kink front.”


“And you call me the giant dork.”




It’s easier than he thought it would be, bringing it into their sex life. When he realizes what he can do with Stiles this way, he wonders how he ever had a hard time picturing it. If his boyfriend derives comfort from acting like some sort of pseudo-furniture, than this is what makes Derek comfortable.


He’s getting a blowjob from Stiles. He’s keyed up about some late shipments for the shop, and the younger man had offered to help take the edge off before he got back to making his calculations. And Derek loves getting blowjobs as much as Stiles like giving them, so it’s definitely no hardship to let him go at it.


It’s just a quickie – like he said, to take the edge off – but no less enjoyable. Stiles is a master when it comes to this, knows all the right things to do to bring Derek to the edge.


It’s an afterthought brought on by the orgasm when he puts his hand on the back of Stiles’ head before he can move away. He’s gone soft in his mouth, but he just wants to enjoy the feeling for a moment longer…


But he can have longer than a moment, can’t he?


He clears his throat. His voice is always a little gruff after coming, and he works to make it less so before he speaks. “Just… stay like that, alright?”


And Stiles – lovely, amazing Stiles – does. He ends up staying there, mouth warm and wet around Derek’s soft cock, while Derek leans back against the pillows on their bed and grabs his notebook and pen that he always keeps on the nightstand and begins the calculations. He uses Stiles head to prop the notebook up on as he writes, and his boyfriend lets out a soft, clearly happy sigh.


When he’s finished, he returns the blowjob.




To this day, Derek doesn’t quite know what made him connect what they were doing upstairs in the apartment to his flower shop. Maybe it was brought on by some sort of delusion after too many days around more flowers than people, what ever it was, he’s very, very happy it happened.




Derek’s shop is never what you might call bustling, but he certainly doesn’t have much time for rest, either, especially in the early summer. There are so many plants to water and care for that every spare moment, he’s going over all of them, making sure they are growing all right. By the end of a busy day, he’s always stumbling upstairs, very much looking forward to taking a long bath and kicking his feet up to watch some sports.


Before Stiles, before they started this thing they’re doing, he’d just spread out along the couch and nurse a beer, relaxing. Now, though, he has the perfect ottoman. He loves resting his feet on his back, having him kneeling in front of him. The first time they’d done this particular act, Stiles had told him later how he loved it. He’d loved feeling low, like he was good for nothing but to be Derek’s footrest.


(“You’re good for a lot of other things, too,” Derek had interjected, worried.


Stiles had laughed, though. “I know that. It’s just… it’s a head space thing, like I told you. Makes me feel good.”)


So he makes sure to do it often. Often enough, at least, that Stiles is almost fluid when he kneels down for it now. Derek is also getting better at ignoring Stiles while they’re doing their thing, which Stiles has also assured him he wants.


(“I’m like, just furniture, you know. I’m a thing, not a person. And like, you don’t really go around talking to coat hangers or footstools, do you? Because if you do, I think I can recommend a good shrink for you.”)


There’s a rush in the shop one day, and Derek is on his feet the entire time, walking back and forth between the backroom and the storefront, setting up new displays, talking to a bunch of customers, replenishing the flowers. The long walk upstairs seems daunting, so he sends a quick text before he works up the strength.


Going to need a footrest tonight.


And Stiles is mercifully already in place when he makes it in. The sight warms his chest, and for a moment he’s so in love that it almost hurts. It’s a good hurt, though. He doesn’t hesitate to grab a beer from the fridge and then settle in to his favourite spot on the couch, perching his feet on the warm back in front of him. He really, really needs to get himself stool or something for the shop. Just for behind the desk, so that when it’s not so busy he can rest for a few moments.


He stretches out a bit more, and takes some time to admire Stiles like this. Now that they’ve both accepted that they find something sexual in this, it makes it easier for Derek to really look. The way he keeps his back so perfectly straight for Derek to rest his feet on. And his back is always so warm. He really is the best boyfriend he could have asked for, and a particularly great footstool.


Footstool. Oh.


He doesn’t allow himself to think about it. “I’ve got a lot of appointments tomorrow at the shop. Why don’t you come down and help me out a bit?”


Stiles is too far into his headspace to answer properly, but he does get a slight nod.


It’s always an early morning on workdays for Derek. Which is, well, basically everyday except for Sundays. He’s the only fulltime staff, and he really doesn’t like it when he has to bring in new people. They never treat the flowers as carefully as they deserve, and it drives him nuts to see them carelessly knocking off flowers. So it’s usually just him, which means he wakes up early everyday. Usually, Stiles will grumble and complain lightly when he leaves, but this time, he wakes with him.


It’s nice, having Stiles help him set up for the day. His boyfriend sweeps the floors for him and opens the blinds to the windows while he makes sure everything has enough water. When they’re done, though, and Derek just needs to flip the sign to open, when he brings up the reason for having Stiles here.


“I’m sure you’ve noticed that I don’t have a chair down here,” he starts, carefully looking nowhere near where Stiles is standing. “I figured you could fill the position, until I get one. If I even need to get one.”


And okay, there’s his boyfriend, on all fours behind the counter already. His back is just as straight as it is when he’s acting as a footstool, and he’s a little lower than an actual stool would be, but the counter is a little low as well. And he’s perfectly hidden, Derek is glad to realize.


He flips the sign to open, and swallows heavily before taking his seat on his new chair. Throughout the day, when he takes the opportunity to sit (both him and Stiles stopping for lunch, of course), he finds himself ignoring Stiles more completely than he ever had before. When he’s sitting on him, he’s under him, and thus out of view. And when he’s up and about in the store, he’s behind the counter, and just as out of sight.


He’s very much looking forward to having this again the next day. Watching the customers, who are still wandering the shop, he shifts a bit in his chair, before straightening up.




He does have Stiles down with him the next day. And the day after that, and the day after that, until Stiles has been acting as his chair in the shop for a week and a half. He doesn’t think life could really get better than that (and really, all of the sex they’ve been having after the long days is fantastic) until a new opportunity arises.


His shop is in a busy section of Beacon Hills. It’s considered prime real estate by some, and he was very lucky when he managed to get it. It was technically two shops, before, but he’d bought both of them out and knocked down the walls separating both of the stores as well as the apartments upstairs. A few years of renovations, and he’d had himself a nice little set up. But because it’s in a busy section, window shopping and casual browsing is something that happens often. People come in just to look around with no real intention to buy something. Sometimes, they just need a place to stop before they continue down the street.


Like the woman that comes in to the shop on this particular day. She’s an elderly woman, probably closer to 90 than 80, and very frail. She doesn’t have a walker or anything, though Derek thinks to himself that she could probably use one. She’s clearly out of breath, and when he looks down, he can see that her feet are swollen


When she sways a little as she comes into the shop, he’s up out of his seat and by her side in a second, holding her elbow gently.


She smiles at him, panting from exertion. “Oh, thank you, young man. It’s just so hot out there, and I’ve been walking around the block for ages now, and I just… I just needed a place to rest for a moment. Do you, perhaps have a seat I could use?”


And Derek thinks of Stiles, of course, still kneeling behind the counter waiting for Derek to come back. He really doesn’t have a chair, but…


“I do have, uh, something you could use, but it’s not really a chair. Here, lean against this for a moment,” he leads her to a bare section of the wall, “and I’ll be right back.”


He heads behind the counter, and nudges Stiles into a crawl, moving him into the backroom. And then he tells him what he wants him to do.


When they both leave the backroom, Stiles walks right towards the lady, and kneels on all fours on the ground in front of her. The woman is clearly shocked, and she just stares at the boy on the ground for a moment, before looking up at Derek.


“I’m afraid I don’t have an actual chair for you to use, but I spoke to my boyfriend here, and he’s willing to put some time in for you.”


“Oh, no, no, I couldn’t do that,” she says, still breathing hard from her walk. “That’s not proper, or nice, to do that to someone.”


“He really doesn’t mind, I promise,” Derek assures her. “Come on, just take a seat for a while. As soon as you catch your breath, you can get up and leave. It would make me feel so much better if you got off your feet for awhile, and I really don’t have another chair for you to use, unfortunately. You’ll have to go somewhere else if you want that”


There’s another moment of hesitation, but he can tell he’s gotten to her with the idea of having to walk more. “Well, I am quite tired, and if it’s just for a little while, I guess that would be fine. Are you sure?”


“Perfectly,” he says, smiling widely. “Go on. Here, I’ll help you down. He’s a little lower than a chair, I guess, but it’s really all I have to offer right now.”


And okay, wow. Seeing someone else use Stiles as a chair? Hot. Surface of the sun hot, as Stiles would say. He doesn’t get the angle when he’s using Stiles, but like this he does. Stiles is so still (as he’d known) but this is… beyond.


He hands the woman a few pamphlets to read while she rests, and goes to grab her a glass of water from their apartment as well. Then, he stands behind the counter and just watches – not outright, but subtly, so he doesn’t scare her off.


To his delight, as she reads and drinks her water, it’s almost like she… forgets what she’s sitting on. She settles in more heavily on him, and glances down less frequently until she eventually stops, seemingly immersed in something about annuals. To his even greater amusement, she stays for over an hour, long after the swelling in her feet has gone down and she’s caught her breath. She thanks him before leaving, but doesn’t have any words for Stiles, who is still kneeling by the wall.


Derek leaves him there for the rest of the day, and while other customers glance askance at the kneeling boy, he smiles when nobody says anything.


When the woman comes back the next day – not breathing hard, looking like she’d just arrived on the block – he smiles brightly at her and asks her if she’d like a seat, and of course she does. When she leaves an hour later, he loses his breath as another customer places her purse on Stiles’ back without a care, and just watches.


After lunch, he points Stiles back to the spot near the wall, and puts up a sign: This bench is not for display. Feel free to use!




Derek is in the back a few weeks later, stocking up after a long day. Stiles is still in the front of the shop, no doubt still on all fours near the wall where he last saw him. He’s just thinking about maybe going out there and sitting on him for awhile, for no real reason, and he loses himself in the thought of it for a bit. When he shakes himself out of it, he realizes he’s still holding a small pot, and he’d been running his fingers along it while thinking of his boyfriend.


He can’t even remember why he has this particular pot – it’s pretty small, longer than anything. For bamboo, maybe, or maybe it was something left over from when that one bride had wanted dandelions at her wedding. It had been an unusual request (because really, dandelions? They do symbolize new beginnings, but they're not exactly what he'd call pretty) and the pots had been his least favourite part of it, because they were, well...


Hmm. A lot like his dick, actually, and he smiles at the comparison. While Stiles is definitely the less mature one in the relationship, he has his moments, and comparing a long flowerpot to his dick is definitely one of them.


And it comes to him, then. Something big.


He’s going to need to do some research.




He’s really hesitant to bring it up, at first. And he definitely doesn’t know what setting to do it in – this doesn’t seem like a thing to talk about over dinner, just incase Stiles gets offended by it (he doesn’t want him to close to sharp utensils, in that case), but it also doesn’t seem like something to bring up while munching on popcorn on the couch.


He decides in the end to forget about it, but his mind doesn’t exactly seem to agree with it. It comes out during sex, when he’s so lost to the pleasure that he hardly even registers what he’s saying. But Stiles is great at multitasking (some pros of having ADHD) and more than capable on concentrating on both the sensations and the words.


So he definitely hears it when Derek says “you’d be such a good little pot, look so pretty” while fucking him.


And Stiles stops moving immediately, blinking up at Derek with confusion. Derek doesn’t know what’s wrong until he speaks. “Did you just call me a pot?”


And he’s blushing. He hadn’t been aware that he could blush so red, but he’s sure he’s a tomato. If Stiles legs weren’t still wrapped around him, keeping them interlocked, he’s sure he would have hightailed it out of there.


“Did I say that? I didn’t meant to. I certainly didn’t mean anything by it, nope. Come on, let’s forget it and keep going.”


“Oh, no, you’re not getting away with that. Tell me what you meant.” He tightens his legs, pulling Derek in more, and he registers through his embarrassment that he’s still rock hard inside of his boyfriend.


He knows he’s not getting out of it, so he explains. Explains how he’d been thinking about the pot, earlier, how it was the size of his dick. And then how he’d briefly thought about fucking Stiles with it like he would his dick… and how that had led to him researching. Looking up optimal germination temperatures for seeds, looking up length needed for germination, looking up bondage techniques. He tells Stiles how he pictured tying him to a table, ass in the air, and stretching his hole open until it could easily fit the flower pot he’d been looking at earlier in it. Or, an even better thought to him, just put a small wire-mesh cage inside of Stiles to keep him open, and then fill him up with dirty. How he thinks Stiles would look so unbelievably pretty, growing a flower for him.


When he finishes his tirade, he knows his eyes must be bright, and Stiles is looking at him with an odd look.


“But we don’t need to,” he tacks on at the end. “Just the thought of it, honestly, that – that can be enough.”


Stiles gulps slightly, before sighing and closing his eyes. “When do you want to start?”


And even though they haven’t been actively fucking for the past few minutes, Derek cums.