“Top or bottom?” Stiles asks, off to Derek's right.
“Bottom,” Derek says automatically, not really looking at him. “Wait, what?”
“Of the muffin,” Stiles says, waving two halves of a muffin at him when Derek looks up. “And, seriously? Who likes the bottom half of the muffin?”
“Oh,” Derek says, feeling the back of his neck flush. “I thought you – never mind.”
“Wait, what?” Stiles says, parroting Derek's words back at him. “You thought I wha – oh my God.”
“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek says reflexively, desperately hoping that's not a blush creeping up his cheeks. “Just give me the muffin.”
“You thought I was choosing this leisurely breakfast to casually ask you about your bedroom preferences?!” Stiles' eyebrows shoot up his forehead and his eyes stretch so wide Derek's a little afraid they might fall out of his head.
“Are you that surprised?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow of his own and trying to recapture his calm.
“That you thought that?” Stiles asks and Derek nods a little, shrugs his shoulder. Stiles thinks for a moment then snorts. “Okay, fair point.”
List of inappropriate things Stiles has asked about at their weekly Scott-mandated breakfast: knots (“No.”), mating (“Why would you think that?”), biting (“Some werewolves. Just like some humans.”), can dude werewolves get other dudes pregnant (“NO! What is wrong with you?”), scenting (“Yes. But not in the way you think.”), foreskin (“I'm not telling you about my penis, Stiles.”). Asking about whether Derek prefers to top or bottom is tame in comparison.
“So,” Stiles says slowly after a moment. “Bottom, eh?”
“I, uh, switch with guys, mostly,” Derek says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “But I have a preference for bottoming.”
“Yeah?” Stiles gives him a look. The look that means he's picturing it. “Cool. Bucking the stereotype and all that.”
“Stereotype?” Derek asks. He knows what Stiles means, knows Stiles knows he knows, and Stiles makes a face because Derek's making him say it.
“Big, muscled guy,” Stiles waves at him, even though Derek's carrying a lot less muscle than he was in his alpha days. “Liking taking it up -”
“Okay,” Derek says, hiding the urge to laugh behind his hand.
“I like topping,” Stiles says, like this whole conversation is totally normal. “I mean. I'm as versatile as versatile can be – all sex is good sex for Stiles – but topping is awesome fun.”
Stiles' eyes glaze and Derek doesn't need confirmation from his nose that Stiles' internal fantasies are going too far for the breakfast table. Derek allows himself a moment to wonder if Stiles has ever included Derek in his internal fantasies, feels himself flush all over at the thought of Stiles thinking about holding him down and fucking him, and ends up kicking his chair over in his haste to stand up. Stiles' eyes snap into focus and he starts laughing, dropping the muffin halves on the table.
“Good talk,” Derek says, clearing his throat. He squeezes Stiles' shoulder and grabs the bottom half of the muffin.
you left me with the check, jerk comes through on his phone when he's trying not to panic in his car.
Derek really wants to have sex with Stiles. Really. How the fuck did he miss that being a thing that he wanted?
“And then he ran out of there like his tail was on fire,” Stiles says, not even meaning to making the dog joke. Scott stares at him. “What?”
“You asked Derek how he likes having dude-on-dude sex at the breakfast I ordered you guys to have so you don't fight all the time,” Scott says, still staring. “Seriously?”
“I didn't mean to!” Stiles says, flailing his arms upward. “And he didn't have to offer more information!”
“Neither did you,” Scott points out and Stiles is absolutely not in the mood for Scott's logic.
“And!” Stiles overrides the point. “And he took the bottom half of the muffin.”
Scott stares again. Stiles makes a few random gestures – like Scott will get the importance of this if he just waves his hands hard enough.
“So?” Scott asks with the tone of voice that says he's going to regret asking. It's a lot to pack into one syllable.
“So! So he took the bottom half of my muffin,” Stiles's voice is getting embarrassingly high but he can't help it.
“You offered it to him,” Scott says slowly.
“Yes, but that was before we talked about the sex stuff,” Stiles says. “So you know what it means that he took it after, right?”
“Uh, no?” Scott's definitely got that regret tone down. Dude should figure out a way to commodify it.
“It means he wants to have sex with me,” Stiles says, grabbing Scott's shoulders and shaking him. Scott brings his hands up and puts them on Stiles' biceps, dragging Stiles' arms away from him.
“It's just a muffin, dude,” Scott says.
“But when is a muffin not a muffin?” Stiles asks, wagging a finger through the air. “When it's a declaration of intent.”
“A muffin is not a declaration of intent,” Scott says, shaking his head.
“Sometimes a muffin is a declaration of intent,” Stiles says, knowing he's just being ridiculous now. Scott rolls his eyes at him.
“No, Stiles, it's never a declaration of intent,” Scott claps him on the shoulder and starts pushing him toward the door. “Now I need to study, dude.”
“Who studies when they're not in college anymore?” Stiles asks, letting himself be pushed.
“People who are going to nursing school,” Scott says, patting Stiles' back. “Now go home and stop thinking about muffins.”
“All right, all right, Alpha McBossy,” Stiles says, pulling Scott's apartment door open. “But I still think -”
“By the way,” Scott says as he shoves Stiles out the door. “You're right about Derek wanting to have sex with you.”
Scott shuts the door in Stiles' face and Stiles stares at the chipped paint for a long moment.
“What the hell, Scotty?” Stiles demands of the closed door. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means he wants to have sex with you,” Scott yells through the door. “I just don't know if he knows he does. Now fuck off so I can study.”
also it's a good thing you want to have sex with him too, right? ;) reaches Stiles while he's trying not to panic in his car.
Which is. True. And has been for a long time. He just never figured Derek would want to. What with all the baggage they're carrying between them.
Derek knows it's Stiles before he answers the door because he recognises the heartbeat. He could recognise that heartbeat before he could recognise anyone else's. He used to blame it on that first day they spent together where Derek was dying.
Turns out he was incredibly wrong about that.
“Sometimes a muffin is a declaration of intent!” Stiles exclaims when Derek opens the door. Derek blinks at him as he pushes past and closes the door behind him.
“I'm going to regret this,” Derek says, following Stiles down the hall. “But: what?”
“You want to have sex with me,” Stiles tells him and Derek stops suddenly, one foot still in the air.
He lowers it slowly, looking at Stiles. Stiles' hair is wrecked, like he's been running his hands through it over and over again since Derek saw him this morning, and his bottom lip looks bitten. Stiles bites his bottom lip when he's thinking hard. Derek's seen him do it a thousand times.
“It's okay if you do,” Stiles says, moving back toward Derek. “Because I really want to have sex with you.”
Derek tries to stop the sharp inhale but he doesn't quiet manage it. Stiles' eyes narrow to focused points and he steps closer again.
“Holy shit,” he breathes out, raising a hand and brushing a thumb over the blush suddenly spreading over Derek's cheeks. “You really do want to have sex with me.”
“I really do,” Derek admits. “For a long time,” he adds, even though he's only just realised. He's wanted it for both five hours and five years. “A really long time.”
“Ohmygod,” Stiles rushes the words together and then he's leaning in and pulling Derek's face in to meet his and they're kissing and -
Yeah. Derek's wanted this for years.
Derek makes a broken off noise when Stiles licks into his mouth and lifts his hands to Stiles' waist, dragging him close. Stiles slides his hand into Derek's hair and tugs a little, sending little shocks of pleasure through Derek's scalp. Stiles' tongue is hot against Derek's, moving in little flicks and twists, and Derek moans brokenly into the kiss. Their hips press together for long enough that Derek can feel the beginnings of Stiles' erection through their clothes.
“Bed,” Derek says, sliding his hands around Stiles' ass and lifting until Stiles wraps his legs around Derek's hips. Stiles laughs into Derek's neck then gets distracted – mouthing over Derek's stubble and finding his pulse point with his tongue.
Derek carries Stiles to his bed and drops him unceremoniously, pulling back to drag his shirt off over his head. Stiles looks up at him as he takes his jeans off with economy, his mouth still partially open and kiss red. Derek wants to press him down and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. Stiles' tongue flickers out to lick at his lips as his eyes dip to Derek's half-hard cock pressing against his briefs. Derek feels his cock twitch.
“Now?” Stiles asks, his voice hoarse and deep. Derek loves it, that he made Stiles sound like that.
“Yes,” Derek says, nodding. He strips his boxers and stands before Stiles, suddenly unsure of where to put his hands.
Stiles makes a distressed noise and bounces off the bed, frantically pulling his own clothes off. He reaches for Derek the moment his boxers hit the floor, dragging them both down to the bed. Stiles rolls on top of Derek and licks into his mouth again – a slow drugged sort of kiss that makes Derek want to smoke up with Stiles and see what fucking him would be like high. Stiles hands are braced either side of Derek's head and he grinds their hips together with a friction just this side of painful. Derek moans loudly and doesn't care, it's sinfully good just feeling Stiles' cock slide haphazardly against his.
“You have no idea how many times I've thought about this,” Stiles says when he breaks the kiss to bite down Derek's neck. Derek shudders under his touch. “Do you have any idea what your ass looks like in those jeans? Of course you do, it's why you wear them, Jesus. I've wanted to fuck you for years.”
“Get on with it,” Derek says, bucking his hips up against Stiles again. Stiles presses his forehead against Derek's and laughs breathlessly.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, kissing the tip of Derek's nose. It's an absurdly romantic gesture given Stiles' next words: “Where's the lube?”
“Drawer,” Derek jerks his head to the left and Stiles stretches away from him, reaching one long arm toward the bedside drawer.
“Half full?” Stiles asks, smirking as he leans back. Derek feels his cheeks heat. “For you or someone else?”
“Me, mostly,” Derek says and Stiles makes a noise somewhere between a whine and a moan.
“Fuck, that's hot,” Stiles says, rocking up onto his knees. “You're so hot.”
“Tell me something I don't know,” Derek says, rolling his eyes. Stiles' eyes narrow, his hands gently touching Derek's knees to spread them wider.
“Your ears are a little small for your head and your bunny teeth are adorable,” Stiles says, trailing lazy fingers over Derek's hardening cock. “You're not perfect and you're a total asshole – but I like you anyway.”
Derek's body flushes all over, which is probably a weird way to react to compliments that are half insults, and Stiles smiles at him. He fists Derek's cock a few times, catching precome on his thumb and spreading it, and Derek hisses through clenched teeth. Stiles' cock is thick and fully hard already, curving up to his stomach, and Derek kinda wants to put his mouth all over it. Stiles distracts him from the thought instantly though, running his fingers teasingly over Derek's balls and making his hips jerk up.
Stiles reaches a hand out and Derek hands him a pillow, not even thinking about how he knows Stiles wants it. Derek lifts his hips so Stiles can tuck the pillow under them and spreads his legs even further when he resettles. He feels open and wanting like this, exposed, and instead of feeling vulnerable the way he has in the past he just feels ready. Stiles swallows loudly and it sounds like his heart swoops in his chest like a bird.
Derek watches Stiles' hands shake a little as he opens the lube, watches as he takes a deep breath to calm himself, watches him slick the first two fingers of his hand. He starts off circling his fingers around Derek's hole, circling over and over again with only the faintest of pressure, and Derek's cock leaks at the feeling.
“Fuck,” Derek hisses out, fisting his hands into his comforter. Stiles looks up at him and crooks a smile at him, eyes wide with lust, before narrowing his focus down again.
The cool slide of Stiles' index finger into Derek's ass is perfect and not enough at the same time. Exploratory as Stiles starts learning Derek's body, his responses. He works in and out, tongue slightly poking out over his bottom lip as he does it, and Derek instinctively pushes down against it. It doesn't take Stiles long to realise that Derek is loose enough for two fingers and the next smile he aims at Derek is filthy – a 'I know what you did last night' smile. Derek smiles back, even though the feeling of Stiles' fingers in him is slowly breaking him apart.
“God,” Stiles mumbles. “You're just.” He crooks his fingers and Derek's back bows as sparks shoot up his spine. “Fuck, Derek.”
“More,” Derek manages, his breath coming hard in his chest.
Stiles withdraws for a moment, Derek instantly mourning the loss, and returns with three slick fingers, his thumb rubbing over Derek's perineum as he works in and out.
“Could make you come like this,” Stiles says, eyes practically black with lust as he stares down at his fingers gliding in and out of Derek's ass. “You'd like it, you'd want it, coming all over yourself because of my fingers.”
“Jesus, Stiles,” Derek grinds out. Stiles' focus doesn't shift and instead Derek feels a fourth finger pressing at his entrance. He makes a noise he's never heard himself make before as Stiles works it in – he feels stretched and open and perfect on Stiles' fingers and if he could let go of his comforter for a moment he'd jerk himself until he comes.
“You ready?” Stiles asks, his own breath panting in his chest. He looks up at Derek and Derek nods wordlessly – completely gone. “Yeah, yeah, you're ready.”
Stiles pulls his fingers out and reaches for a condom Derek hadn't notice him drop on the bed. Derek's gripping his wrist before he can even think about it and Stiles looks up at him with raised eyebrows.
“Want you to come inside me,” Derek says, ears burning as he says it, and Stiles' heart hammers in his chest again.
“Fuck, you're sure?” Stiles asks, gripping the base of his cock and obviously fighting for his self-control. “Ohmygod, you're sure. Okay. I can. I can do that.”
Stiles slicks his cock with quick, practised motions and lines himself up – one hand holding Derek open and the other teasing the head of his cock against him. Derek wants to grab Stiles' hips and pull him in, needs to the feel the heat of him pressed inside, but he resists, lets Stiles guide things. Stiles slides the head of his cock in so achingly slowly that Derek thinks he might die before Stiles bottoms out. Stiles is biting his bottom lip, concentrating, and then he's pushing in in one perfect move. Derek arches up off the bed, his hands going to Stiles' shoulders, and he stays like that, as awkward as it is, while they both breathe deeply and try not to come all at once.
“Holy shit,” Stiles mutters, working his hips back and forth in maddening little movements.
“Yeah,” Derek breathes, sinking back down again as Stiles' cock drags slowly over his prostate, lighting him up from head to toe. “Fuck.”
“You – you can't take this as representative of anything,” Stiles says, drawing out and thrusting back in, gauging his rhythm. “Because this is not going to take long.”
“S'okay,” Derek says, lifting his hips into Stiles' thrusts as they gain confidence. “I'm gonna go first.”
Derek knows it's true almost as soon as he says it – can already feel the orgasm burning circles inside of him, building in a cresting wave as Stiles moves inside him. Stiles is so good at this, so perfect, and Derek gets a hand around his cock to start stroking himself in time. He fists the other hand into Stiles' hair and brings him down for a kiss, Stiles' tongue once again hot and wanting against his.
Derek breaks the kiss because he feels like he can't breathe, his whole body tightening and pushing back against Stiles. Stiles makes a strangled noise when Derek clenches around him and his thrusts become fast and hard, each one striking Derek's very core. Derek's hand goes tight around the head of his cock, thumb rubbing over the spot he knows will make him come until he sees stars, and he thinks he might be holding his breath and the wave crashes down through him and he's shaking, he thinks, but also not, and his come is hitting his chest in stripes and Stiles is coming inside him with a hissing-stuttering moan.
It might be one of the best orgasms Derek's ever had. He's not sure because his brain has stopped working.
“I think my brain just came out my dick,” Stiles says and Derek starts laughing helplessly, shaking so hard that Stiles has to slip out of him before he injures himself.
“Sorry,” Stiles says after a moment. “That was, uh -”
“Perfect,” Derek says, ducking his head to press a kiss against Stiles' temple.
“Oh my God, stop,” Stiles says, pushing weakly at Derek's shoulder. “Who are you?”
Derek doesn't answer in favour of getting a hand in Stiles' hair and tilting his head up for a long sweet kiss. Stiles sighs and relaxes into him, half spread over Derek's chest.
“We should've done this sooner,” Stiles says when Derek finally releases him.
“I should've realised sooner,” Derek says, trailing fingers down Stiles' neck and over the bumpy ridges of his vertebrae.
“Fuck,” Stiles says suddenly, burying his face in Derek's chest. “Oh Scott, you complete dick, you are the worst.”
“Um,” Derek taps his fingers on the skin of Stiles' back. “What?”
“The breakfasts,” Stiles pushes himself up with a hand on Derek's chest. Derek gets distracted when it means Stiles' little finger drags over his nipple. “That bastard. He was setting us up.”
It's something Scott would do. In an absence of constant terror and pain to fight through Scott's alpha-ing has become an uncontrollable urge to ensure the happiness of his packmates at all odds. Derek always thought Scott was leaving him be, that maybe he was too big a project for even Scott's boundless optimism.
“Huh,” Derek says, smile tugging at his mouth. He can still feel the phantom presence of Stiles inside him, the slickness where Stiles' come is sliding out his ass. “Remind me to send him a thank you card.”
Stiles starts laughing, the big, open one that Derek's been sort of obsessed with for years. He rolls them both over and cages Stiles with his arms, kisses him until he stops laughing, until Stiles' fingers are brushing down the cleft of his ass and sliding easily back inside. Derek moves against them, enjoying it even though it'll be a while before he's up for round two, and laughs at his own wordplay. Stiles smiles into the kiss and breaks it, cupping Derek's cheek and rubbing a thumb over the flushed skin again.
“You still got the bottom of the muffin?” Stiles asks, hips rocking a little and sliding their still sensitive cocks together.
“Yeah,” Derek says. It's on the kitchen table. Where Derek had stared at it for over an hour while panicking about what taking it meant. “The bottom of the muffin is awful, who even eats a muffin like that? Why?”
“Got an idea,” Stiles says, tilting Derek's head so that he can bite at his jaw. “It can wait though.”
It waits until late afternoon – after Derek has pushed Stiles down on his back and rode him until they both saw stars – and Derek bends a laugh into Stiles' shoulder when Stiles sends the picture. They fall asleep tangled together and exhausted, barely managing to clean up a little before they do, and Derek can't believe he's slept without Stiles in his space for so long.
MUFFINS ARE TOTALLY A DECLARATION OF INTENT
“Oh my God, Stiles!” Scott nearly drops the phone when he scrolls to the picture, half convinced it's going to be Stiles' butt because, well, Stiles has done that before.
Instead it's just Stiles and Derek, and Scott's pretty sure they are all the naked, with the bottom half of the muffin Stiles had freaked over. Stiles is biting into it and it looks like maybe Derek was supposed to be doing that too – instead his forehead is pressed against Stiles' temple, his eyes half shut, and he's smiling in a way that Scott has never seen him smile.
It's sweet, really.
Which doesn't mean Scott doesn't immediately upload it to Facebook with the caption 'muffins are not a declaration of intent, feelings are a declaration of intent' and every member of the pack likes it within five minutes. Being an alpha is awesome.
(He orders a muffin basket to be delivered to Derek's apartment within the hour. The outraged texts are worth it.)