“Is it something you can actually do?” Stiles asks suddenly, the faint stubble on his chin scraping against Derek’s stomach.
Stiles’ habit of launching into conversations that they haven’t actually been having always flusters him a little, and when he’s still feeling all sex-dumb from being rimmed for twenty minutes straight then riding Stiles’ cock, it’s even harder to work out what the hell he’s talking about.
“You know, your dick. Is it a real thing?”
“Is my dick a real thing,” Derek repeats flatly, his stomach muscles tensing when Stiles reaches out and strokes his cock with his finger tip, like it’s a goddamn hamster or something.
“Knotting, you giant tool,” Stiles clarifies angrily as he lifts his head off Derek’s stomach and glares at him for a moment. “When Scott first turned and I read all that stuff online, it kept, uh, coming up, so to speak. And I kept meaning to ask Scott, but never got round to it and then, you know, all that stuff happened,” Derek reaches out and tangles his hand into Stiles’ sweat-damp hair, stroking gently, because he knows that by stuff, Stiles is referring to the Nogitsune and being possessed, and that he hates talking about it. “And anyway,” Stiles rallies as he resumes his weird cock petting thing, “I figured now I have an all access pass to the werewolf peen club, I should probably find out.”
“What did you read online that talked about – that?” Derek asks.
“Bad Twilight porn mostly.”
“Is this your way of telling me you read Fifty Shades of Grey?” Derek asks in mock horror.
Stiles stops what he’s doing and scowls at him again. “Is this your way of admitting that you even know what that is? Or just your way of trying to not have this conversation?” His scowl twists into a stupid grin after a second as he mutters ‘heh, knot’, under his breath. Derek’s officially in love with an idiot.
“It’s a thing,” Derek replies at last, pushing at Stiles’ head so he looks away from him. Stiles doesn’t seem overly offended by that and goes back to what he was doing, making Derek’s cock twitch in the process.
“You ever done it to anyone?”
“No,” Derek replies snappishly. His sex life has been equal parts traumatizing, brief and anonymous while he was living in New York, and non-existent up until Stiles’ winter break, when he’d marched on into Derek’s apartment like he had every right to be there and announced that enough was enough and that they’d “danced around this thing long enough and you should probably kiss me right now”. Derek had kissed him right then. That was six months ago and he hasn’t regretted that decision once. “I never trusted anyone enough,” Derek says at last; Stiles’ hand stills for a moment at that, his heart beat speeding up slightly. “Is it – do you want me to, um, do that to you?”
“Do you want to?” Stiles asks quietly, his hand stilling on Derek’s cock and his heart rate starting to speed up ever so slightly. “I mean, do you trust me enough to do that?”
“You know I do,” Derek replies as he drags his hand through Stiles’ hair, trying to get it to stick up.
“So we can try it sometime?” Stiles asks, turning his head slightly and pressing a kiss just to the left of his belly button. “I mean is that how it works? Do you just get to, you know, do it? Have you been holding out on me?”
“I don’t know,” Derek admits. “I’ve only ever, uh, done it once.”
“I thought you said you’d never done it to anyone?”
“I haven’t. It happened when I was a kid and I was jerking off,” Derek says, his cheeks burning furiously at the memory. Because he can’t just tell Stiles something like that and have it left at that. Stiles will want all the details, probably right down to what Derek was wearing at the time and what music he was listening to. Evanescence, as it happens, but there’s no way in hell Derek is admitting that part.
“Come on,” Stiles wheedles as he gives up on Derek’s dick and starts jabbing at his sides with his pointer finger. “Story time.” He turns his head a little so he can see Derek’s face, his neck twisted at an awkward angle.
“There’s not much of a story,” Derek sighs. “I was thirteen, maybe fourteen. My parents had gone out for the day with Cora and I was in the house on my own. And I was bored,” He shrugs, because that was pretty much all he used to do on the rare occasion he was left alone in the house. “And I swiped this Playboy magazine from my brother’s bedroom and, you know, went to town.”
“Who’d you jerk off to?” Stiles interrupts, because that’s the sort of thing he likes to know. Likes to know as many small details of Derek’s life possible. The fact that Derek doesn’t watch porn apparently infuriates him, because, in Stiles’ words, it means he can’t work out Derek’s type. Telling Stiles that he’s Derek’s type had resulted in, initially, a happy little smile and an ‘aww’, and then relentless badgering about ‘yeah but who else’.
“How should I know? It was over ten years ago,” Derek huffs. That’s a lie. It was Audra Lynn. She’d looked extremely judgmental when it had happened. “Do you want to hear the rest or do you want to keep asking questions?”
“Want to do both,” Stiles shrugs. “Tell me the rest of your penis story and we can have a Q and A session at the end.”
“What rest? I came, that happened, I freaked out.”
“Excuse me? You freaked out?”
“You’re telling me you wouldn’t freak out if your dick suddenly did something you weren’t expecting?”
“Course I would,” Stiles replies. “I cried the first time I actually ejaculated because I thought there was something wrong with me.”
Derek laughs at that and starts stroking his hand through Stiles’ hair again. “Yeah, well imagine that, but ten times worse. I literally thought I’d broken my dick and that it was never going to go down again.”
“What did you do about it?”
“Put the magazine back where I found it in Joe’s room and hid in my room for the rest of the day. And then got to have possibly the single most embarrassing conversation of my life with my father that evening,” Derek tells him.
“More embarrassing than when my dad asked if we were being safe that time over dinner?”
“What? Yes more embarrassing. Much more.”
“But you’re going to do it to me, right?” Stiles asks as he curls his fingers around the base of Derek’s cock and squeezes lightly and Derek just knows he’s imagining what it might feel like. “Knot me?”
“If that’s something you want, yeah,” Derek replies.
“Right then,” Stiles says suddenly, rolling away from Derek and springing off the bed, leaving Derek feeling like someone’s just thrown at bucket of ice water over him at the abrupt change. “If we’re going to do this, we need more lube.”
“Lube. I mean, if you’re going to be stretching my ass to hitherto unknown proportions, I want to know that everything’s sufficiently lubed up. And we’re nearly out,” He starts dragging on clothes as he talks, including the t-shirt that Derek had been wearing up until a few hours ago when Stiles had decided it was naked time. “Come on.”
He hurls Derek’s jeans onto the bed before sitting down to put on his socks. Derek dresses a little more slowly, pulling another shirt out of his dresser and shaking his head fondly as Stiles vanishes from the bedroom and out into the lounge. His fond smile is quickly replaced with a frown when he hears his own car keys, rather than the Jeep’s keys being grabbed off the table by the front door.
“You are not driving my car,” He calls as he yanks his shirt down over his chest and bends down to look for his own socks, eventually finding them under Stiles’ abandoned t-shirt.
“Relax,” Stiles yells back as he opens the apartment door. “I’m just going to put the seat heaters on!” Ever since Derek got rid of his Toyota, after Scott had been violently sick all over the backseat and left a hideous smell that would just not come out of the upholstery no matter what he tried, and replaced it with a Shelby Mustang, Stiles has been falling over himself to be allowed to drive the car. The car is Derek’s new baby though, and he’s not prepared to put his baby in the highly incapable hands of Stiles any time soon. Kira and Lydia persist in referring to it as the ‘big black compensator’, which Derek thinks is particularly unfair. He’s not compensating for anything. He just happens to like powerful, noisy cars.
Stiles is looking the picture of innocence when Derek finally gets out to the car, and the only thing that raises his suspicion is the way he’s got his cell phone out on the center console. Which means they’re going to have to listen to Stiles’ music on the way to the drug store.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” He grits out as he starts the engine and the opening notes of Super Bass come pounding out of his stereo. It’s not that he has anything against Nicki Minaj per se, it’s that Stiles knows all the words to all her songs and insists on singing along despite the fact that he’s absolutely tone deaf. It’s a good job he loves the idiot.
It’s late by the time they get back to Derek’s apartment, because after they’d been to the drug store and had an argument over which lube to buy, Stiles had decided he wanted to go to the place that serves deep fried mac n cheese.
“We can just go to sleep if you want,” Derek says quietly as he slides into bed besides Stiles and peppers his bare shoulder with kisses while Stiles rubs at his belly and complains about the second plate of sweet potato fries he decided to eat, declaring that he feels like he’s food pregnant.
“Nooo,” Stiles wails pathetically, flopping over until he’s facing Derek and working his hand down into his underwear. “You promised. Magical supernatural penis things are going to happen.”
“Not if you’re going to be sick on me they’re not,” Derek tells him, poking Stiles in the stomach and grinning when he makes a sad noise in response.
He gives in in the end, because he loves Stiles and he especially loves having sex with Stiles, loves watching the way he gets all flushed and incoherent when he comes. As he’s working a forth lube-coated finger into Stiles’ ass, he wonders how much more incoherent he’ll get if he actually knots him. The thought makes his dick twitch in anticipation and he hurriedly paws at Stiles’ hip until he turns over and he can slide into him in one slow, easy motion.
“Fuck me, you feel good,” Stiles gasps into his ear when he bottoms out, wrapping his arms around Derek’s shoulders and pulling him into a filthy kiss.
Derek starts to thrust slowly into Stiles, trying to last as long as possible, to prolong how good this feels for as long as possible. The way Stiles is bucking his hips up to meet Derek’s though, and the way he’s biting and nipping at the side of his throat is pushing Derek closer and closer to the edge, and he tightens his hold on Stiles as he starts to fuck him harder. As he feels his orgasm starting to build low in his belly, he feels suddenly panicked about what might happen; what if he hurts Stiles when he knots him? If he causes him some kind of permanent damage. He feels the sudden warm, wetness of Stiles’ release between them and inhales deeply as Stiles extracts his hand from where it’s trapped, gripping hold of his hips and pulling him as close as he can as he comes, his cock twitching three, four times before he slumps over, his sweaty forehead pressed against Stiles’ shoulder while he waits for it to happen.
Only it doesn’t.
“Nothing’s happening,” Stiles huffs like Derek hasn’t noticed as he nudges him with his shoulder until he lifts himself of Stiles’ chest and looks at him. “Why is nothing happening?”
“I – I don’t know,” Derek admits, trying to grind his rapidly softening cock further into Stiles, all the while willing it to do something, anything, other than start to slip out pathetically. “I’m sorry,” He adds feebly when Stiles makes a frustrated noise and wriggles underneath him. His cock gives up at that point and he slips out of Stiles completely and quickly turns away, feeling like the biggest disappointment on the planet.
Stiles is quick to follow, grabbing and pulling at him until his chest is flush with Derek’s back and his arm is wrapped firmly around his waist.
“It was still good,” Stiles murmurs against the back of his neck. “You know it was. You were there. We can try it again tomorrow. You know, when I don’t have sweet potato bloat.”
Derek huffs out a small laugh at that and covers Stiles’ hand with his own. “I am sorry though. I don’t know why it didn’t – work.”
“Tomorrow,” Stiles repeats, shifting around until he’s got one calf wedged between Derek’s and his other arm tucked under his neck. “Sleep now.”
Derek turns his head just enough that Stiles is able to brush a kiss against the corner of his mouth before flopping back down against the pillow and frowning into the darkness of the room. It’s a long time before he falls asleep as he replays what just happened over and over in his head and tries to work out what the hell he’s supposed to do to make it happen.
The trouble is, when Derek is still failing to, in Stiles’ own words, “pop even the tiniest hint of a knot” two weeks later, he starts to feel self conscious. Which is worsened by the way Stiles seems to take it as a personal insult, like he’s just not into him or something.
It starts to become a serious bone of contention between them, with Stiles insisting vehemently one afternoon that neither of them are leaving Derek’s bed for anything until he knots him, which just ends up making Derek’s erection wilt sadly. He wants to be able to do it so badly, because he knows how much Stiles wants him to, but the more Stiles talks about it, or more accurately, grumbles and complains about it, the more nervous he gets until it gets to a point that night where he can’t even get it up any longer, no matter how much Stiles tries to coax him into hardness.
“Well maybe I just like you more than you like me,” Stiles snaps at him as he rolls off the bed and snatches up his scattered clothes before stomping off towards the bathroom. “I bet I could pull that shit off if my dick worked that way.”
“You’re not fucking helping,” Derek shouts back, hauling on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and storming out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. He ends up driving around with no shoes on for nearly an hour, and by the time he gets back to the apartment, its dark and empty and Stiles and his Jeep are nowhere to be seen.
He ends up crying into his pillow in sheer frustration at the fucked-up-ness of the situation.
It’s four days before Stiles turns up at his apartment again, looking apologetic and sheepish as Derek stands in the doorway and stares at him. He’s in half a mind to slam the door shut in Stiles’ face.
“Hi,” Stiles says softly as Derek stares impassively at him, twisting the fabric of his shirt – Derek’s shirt, actually – in his hand as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Can I come in?”
Derek shrugs and stands aside to let him into the apartment, because he doesn’t really want to have an argument with Stiles out in the communal hallway where his neighbors will inevitably come and gawk at them.
“I’m so sorry,” Stiles blurts out as Derek turns around. He takes a half step towards Derek, his hand outstretched like he’s about to grab hold of Derek’s own and then stops, like he thinks better of it. “I was really unfair to you. About all the sex stuff.”
Derek shrugs in agreement. “Yeah, you were.”
“I just – I – can we sit?” Stiles asks, nodding towards the couch and plopping down onto the cushions before Derek can respond. “I’m sitting, OK? You should sit too. Here. Next to me.” He gestures towards the empty space beside him, pulling a face when Derek elects to perch on the arm of the couch instead. “I just got really obsessed with the idea,” Stiles continues, tracing patterns on his kneecap with a finger tip. “About how good it would feel, and how it’d make us closer and I think at some point, I just kind of forgot that it wasn’t just about me and my enjoyment, and that I was actually making it really bad for you instead. Fuck, I wouldn’t have wanted to have sex with me either, the way I behaved.”
“You were a bit of a dick,” Derek concedes, watching Stiles warily as he shuffles a little closer and turns towards him.
“S’why you like me,” Stiles mumbles as he wraps his long fingers around Derek’s ankle, stroking the thin skin over the bone. “Cause I’m a dick.”
“Not when you’re being a dick because I can’t get it up,” Derek huffs, trying not to react to the feeling of Stiles stroking his leg, because he’s not quite ready to not be angry with him just yet. After a moment he rolls his eyes and sighs, swiveling round on the arm and bracketing Stiles in with his legs. “Don’t do it again. Please?”
“I won’t,” Stiles tells him, kneeling up on the couch and cupping Derek’s face in his hands, pressing little butterfly kisses across his cheeks. “I promise. Please say you’ll forgive me.”
Derek hesitates for a second before unfolding his arms and pulling Stiles into a tight hug, dropping his head onto his shoulder and inhaling deeply. Stiles’ familiar scent helps ground him, and before long, he finds himself trailing hot, sucking kisses over Stiles’ collarbone.
“Come to bed?” He whispers as he works his way up Stiles’ neck to just behind his ear.
“Are you sure you want me to?” Stiles asks quietly, tensing when Derek slips his fingers under his shirt and drags his nails across his back.
“OK,” Stiles nods, letting Derek pull him up and off the couch before walking him backwards towards the bedroom, alternating between kissing him and stripping off his clothes as they go.
“I’ve missed this,” Derek admits as they tumble into bed in a messy tangle of limbs. “I’ve missed you.”
“Can I tell you something?” Stiles asks, stroking his fingertips down the side of Derek’s face and waiting for him to nod before continuing. “I haven’t slept. Since we had that fight. I hate when we’re in a fight. So can we just, not. Fight, I mean. Ever.”
“Stay here tonight,” Derek tells him. Because he hasn’t slept properly either. His bed feels too big and empty without Stiles in it. Stiles nods eagerly and wraps himself around Derek, hugging him tightly as he buries his face against Derek chest. They stay like that for a long time, until Derek becomes aware that they’re both kind of grinding up against each other. He’s not even sure who started it, just knows that after not having physical contact with Stiles for so long, it’s the most amazing feeling in the world.
“You want to?” Stiles asks as he slips his hand between them and tentatively curls his hand around Derek’s hardening cock.
“So much,” Derek murmurs into Stiles’ open mouth, nipping at his bottom lip when Stiles pumps his fist, just the once, just enough to make him absolutely, achingly hard. “What do you want?”
“Want to ride you.”
Derek nods and leans over to grab the lube from his bedside table before shuffling down the bed and gently pushing Stiles down onto his front. Lightly slapping Stiles’ ass cheeks with both hands, he pulls them apart and stares down at him, his gaze flitting from the little pucker of Stiles’ hole to the lube lying innocently beside them on the bed covers and decides to throw caution the wind and leans down instead, dragging the flat of his tongue over Stiles’ hole in one slow, confident motion. Stiles mewls into the pillow and starts trying to twist away from Derek, muttering something about how he hasn’t showered since this morning, but Derek ignores him, holding tight to his ass as he continues to lick at him, enjoying the way Stiles loosens and opens around his tongue until he can work the tip of it inside.
“Holy fuck, do that again,” Stiles gasps when Derek pulls back and blows a stream of cool air across his hole. Derek happily obliges, fascinated by the way Stiles’ muscles twitch at the sensation. As he watches, he sticks his pointer finger into his mouth, working his tongue around it until it’s covered with saliva and starts to slowly push into Stiles, enjoying the broken sob that escapes from Stiles when he crooks his finger against his prostate.
Eventually he has to give up and reach for the lube, taking a moment to palm his own aching cock before turning his attention back to Stiles, loving how Stiles can so easily take four of his fingers, moaning and pushing back against them and begging for Derek to fuck him. He waits a few more minutes before he pulls his fingers out and lets Stiles up, because he can be a dick too when he wants to be, raising an eyebrow when he sees how red and angry looking Stiles’ cock is from not being touched.
Stiles wastes no time in clambering into his lap, sinking down onto his cock in one fluid motion that knocks all the air out of Derek and he drops his head against Stiles’ chest, gasping at how tight and hot he feels. It’s all he can do to keep himself together as Stiles settles himself more comfortably, his heels brushing against Derek’s ass as he crosses his legs behind him.
“You feel –” Derek starts, only to have the words stolen from his mouth when Stiles starts to rock gently in his lap.
He so distracted by how good it feels that it takes him a few moments to realize that Stiles is repeatedly whisper ‘I love you’ into his ear as he kisses every inch of Derek’s face and neck that he can reach. Derek slides his hands up Stiles’ back in response, hooking his hands over his shoulders and pulling him down lower onto his cock as he repeats the same thing back to Stiles. Because he does. Does love Stiles. Loves him more than he thought was physically possible. He wakes up at night scared sometimes at how much he loves Stiles.
He’s so close, so incredibly, painfully close, like any sudden movement on Stiles’ behalf will have him crying out and spilling inside of him, but as he tries to focus on something else, anything that will keep this going a little while longer, he realizes that something feels different and leans back from Stiles a little to stare down at where their bodies are joined together.
“What’s wrong?” Stiles gasps, a small frown furrowing his brow as he keeps rolling his hips slowly. Derek grips onto them tightly and bucks up off the bed a little, watching as Stiles’ eyes go wide.
“Is that?” Stiles asks, his bitten down fingernails digging into Derek’s shoulders as he tries to press down harder against him, like he’ll never have enough of Derek’s cock inside him. Derek just nods in reply because the base of his cock is definitely starting to swell and harden now, making it increasingly difficult for Stiles to move how he wants to. Needs to.
“’m coming,” He manages to sigh against Stiles’ flushed skin, unable to do anything besides hold on to Stiles and try not to pass out from the intensity of it all. Because his dick is still swelling, and he’s still coming and fuck, it feels like it’s never going to stop. Stiles has gone completely still above him, his thighs shaking with the effort of not moving as he catches hold of Derek’s chin with two fingers, tilting his head up and kissing him. Or trying to kiss him at least, because Derek doesn’t even feel coherent enough to do that, because all he can think is about how his dick is still pulsing feebly inside of Stiles.
“Well,” Stiles says brightly when Derek finally looks up at him. “This is, um, something.”
Derek nods. Because he’s not sure what else he’s supposed to say. He moans when Stiles shifts his weight slightly; everything feels hyper sensitive right now, like it’ll only take the slightest bit of persuasion on stiles’ behalf to make him come again. He sits up a little, pressing a kiss against the patch of hair in the middle of Stiles’ chest before reaching round behind him and sliding his hands down over his ass.
“What are you doing?” Stiles asks suspiciously as he rolls his hips experimentally, gasping at the feeling. “Fuck. You – it – your fucking knot is pressing right on my prostate,” He moans into Derek’s ear, flinching as Derek’s questing fingers reach where they’re joined together, rubbing lightly over where Stiles’ rim is stretched so wide around Derek’s knot. The skin there is silky smooth and Derek can’t seem to stop touching, watching as Stiles’ eyes flutter shut and he squirms.
“Come for me?” Derek asks in a whisper, lowering his head to graze one of Stiles’ nipples with his teeth as he keeps stroking his fingertips over Stiles’ rim. He’s completely spellbound by the feeling of it, and from the look on Stiles’ face, he’s enjoying it too just as much as Derek is.
As Derek watches, Stiles takes his leaking cock in hand and starts to jack himself, moving his hips in tiny circles, because Derek’s knot is doing a good job of preventing him from doing much else. He looks so beautiful, Derek thinks to himself as he bucks his hips up off the bed slightly, drawing a guttural moan from Stiles.
“I’m so close,” Stiles is panting into his ear, and it’s only then that Derek realizes that he is too, that his cock is aching from the need to come again and he curls his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck, pulling him down into a soppy, frantic kiss as his cock starts to twitch and pulse again. Stiles sounds so broken when he comes, gasping and panting desperately against Derek’s mouth as hot spurts of come over his chest.
“So how long do you think?” Stiles asks once he’s got his breath back, as he’s smearing his come into Derek’s skin, like he’s finger painting. That’s a vaguely ominous sounding question, because he’s well aware of Stiles’ propensity to fidget, how he finds it hard to sit still for too long because it makes him uncomfortable.
“I have no idea,” Derek replies, hissing when Stiles tries to lift himself up and tugs hard on his knot. “Yeah, no, don’t do that.”
“You keep making it twitch,” Stiles complains, squirming in Derek’s lap, as much as he physically can, anyway. “Like twitch, twitch, twitch. Right against my prostate. It’s weird.”
“It feels good though,” Stiles continues. “Really, really good. I think I could quite happily have you do this to me every single time we have sex.”
Derek snorts in response because Stiles is still fidgeting and it’s driving him nuts.
“Hey, do you think it happened because I said I love you?”
“You tell me you love me all the time,” Derek replies through a yawn. “And I’ve never done it before.”
“It might be why,” Stiles persists. “Like a very pornographic fairytale.”
“Yeah, that must be it. Don’t be weird.”
“I’m the weird one? I’m literally trapped on your cock right now and I’m the weird one?” Stiles pouts.
Eventually, Derek’s knot goes down enough that Stiles is able to move at last, complaining about thigh cramp as he crawls up the bed and worms his way under the covers, leaving patches of come all over Derek’s clean sheets. Derek doesn’t feel like he can really complain too much though, considering it was him who put it there in the first place.
“My ass feels weird,” Stiles mumbles through a yawn when Derek lies down beside him and nuzzles at the side of his neck with his nose. “Seriously, feel it.” He grabs hold of Derek’s hand, dragging it away from where it had been resting on his hip and pressing it between his ass cheeks. Derek touches him carefully, worried he might have hurt him somehow when he pulled out, but from what he can tell, Stiles is OK, just puffy and tender from being stretched so wide for so long. He’s so slick with come and lube that it takes no effort on Derek’s part to slip two fingers into him, pushing in and out a few times until Stiles tells him to knock it off and wriggles away from him.
“I’m sorry we had that fight,” He says quietly, watching as Stiles closes his eyes, one hand still thrown behind him as he continues muttering about how weird his ass feels right now.
“I dunno,” Stiles replies. “I’d say it was worth it in the end.”