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Mate For Life

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Derek feels awareness bleeding into his skull along with the fever. He can feel his wolf stirring in his bones, feels the heat of rut spreading across his skin. And he can feel something damp and hot licking along his stomach, and something tight and slick around his cock.

Derek comes awake at that, and he sits up on his elbows to look down at the unruly mess of hair down by his hip. Stiles is lying under the sheet at Derek’s hip, his tongue tracing the ridges in Derek’s stomach, a hand curled around Derek’s dick.

“Good morning,” Stiles says, voice rough and low with sleep and sex, and Derek’s head swoons.

Stiles is beautiful, mouth pouty from too many fevered kisses, hair sticking every which way from clawing fingers. His eyes are warm as honey, and Derek’s gaze catches on the bruise peeking out from under the tilt of Stiles’s chin, spread across his shoulder.

His wolf grumbles.

“Morning,” Derek says gruffly, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth.

“You woke me up a few minutes ago. The fever has you all hot and growly,” Stiles tells him, and Derek nods. He can feel it, all that heat seeping from his gut.

“I thought you’d be a snorer,” Stiles says, taking a pause in the tongue bath he’s giving Derek’s abs to look up at him with a smirk. Derek smiles, his wolf pressing up on his ribs as Stiles does something sinful with his wrist that sends a sharp jolt of pleasure from Derek’s cock to his gut.

He drops his head back down against the pillow, hands fisting the sheets as Stiles kissed down the vee of his hips. “I thought you’d talk in your sleep. Seeing as you never shut up,” Derek says, closing his eyes as Stiles nuzzles the base of his cock.

“You fucked all the words out of me,” Stiles snips, and then Derek’s hips are arching up off the bed as Stiles’ tongue traces the vein on the underside of his dick.

“Oh, Stiles,” Derek says, because words are becoming hard to find as Stiles laps at the slick leaking out of his slit. Stiles sucks on the head while his fingers work the base, and Derek can feel the pressure of his knot pulsing under Stiles’ palm.

Stiles seems determined to destroy Derek’s ability to form any coherent thought ever again as he takes his dick as deep as it’ll go, swallowing around the length of it when it presses at the back of his throat. For his second blow job, Stiles handles it like a champ—like his mouth has been made just for Derek’s cock.

Derek wants to fist a hand in Stiles’ hair and fuck up into his mouth, wants to knot him and spill his hot seed down Stiles’ throat, force him to swallow it all, keep his mouth wide open around the knot till his jaw aches.

He could do it. His mate would let him.

When the heat in Derek’s stomach curls and tightens to a dangerous, tangible thing, his eyes fly open, catching the motion of the ceiling spinning as he sits up.

He tangles a clawed hand into Stiles’ hair and tugs, carefully as possible, right before he starts coming. The guttural growl that tears from his chest burns up his throat, and Stiles moans as he works Derek’s length with his hand, Derek’s release spurting thick and hot across his cheek, his throat.

The sight makes Derek snarl, and he bucks up into Stiles’ fist as the aftershocks slither through him, molten and sweet. When he stops shuddering, Derek relents his grip on Stiles’ hair, letting Stiles drop down into his lap, licking and kissing along his dick, which has barely softened at all. Derek falls back against the pillow again, dragging in harsh breaths, chest rising and falling as the shockwaves subside.

“Shit damn, Der,” Stiles says, and Derek can hear the grin in his voice. He kisses the soft skin just below Derek’s belly button. “You were growling like crazy.”

“I was?”

“Yeah. Sounded feral—I thought the fever broke you,” Stiles says, and Derek sits up a bit, swallowing hard. He means to apologize, to say something comforting, but Stiles does that thing again where he kicks Derek’s thought process out the window.

He’s got his long, gorgeous fingers in his mouth, sucking noisily at the shining wetness there. When he’s done with his fingers, he laves his tongue along his palm, moaning against the damp skin.

Derek’s lids droop.

It’s a sight to see; Stiles painted with Derek’s cum, hair disheveled from sleep and sex, pretty pink tongue cleaning his moist lips.

Derek sits up enough to hook his hands under Stiles’ armpits to drag him up onto Derek’s lap. Stiles goes easily, sliding his hands up Derek’s chest, palming his shoulders as Derek takes his ass in his hands, squeezing, grinding Stiles’ dick down against his when Stiles straddles him as if it's second nature.

Swallowing, Derek says, “The fever, I… I wasn’t thinking straight. Have to be careful… with you.”

Stiles wriggles against him, blunt nails digging crescents into Derek’s shoulder and chest. “Did you wanna do bad things to me?” He says playfully.

Hnngh, Stiles.”

“Did you wanna hurt me, Derek?”

“Never on purpose,” Derek says immediately, and his wolf growls in agreement.

“Accidents happen. A few bruises here and there—teeth marks on an ass cheek, you know, the usual. I'll never blame you for anything that happens while you're sexed up on me,” Stiles says, grinning, and then his breath hitches on a moan when his cock slides against the jut of Derek’s hip on a sweet thrust.

“I will be held accountable for my actions whether or not I'm sexed up, ” Derek huffs, and he pulls Stiles closer. “I'll be responsible for hurting you.”

It’s slick and hot, and Derek growls past his fangs, lifting his head. Stiles jolts at the first swipe of Derek’s tongue across his cheek, but the moment he realizes Derek is lapping his own spunk off of Stiles’ skin, Stiles goes boneless.

Derek ,” he whimpers, letting Derek rock them together, tilting his head to bare his throat so Derek can lick the cum from his hammering pulse. “Still totally something wrong with me,” Stiles says, and then he turns his head and fights Derek’s chin down until their lips slot together and he’s chasing the taste of Derek’s cum on Derek’s tongue.

One of Derek’s hands runs up the curve of Stiles’ back, catching on his shoulder blade before he buries his fingers into Stiles’ hair. He digs his heels against the mattress and ruts up against Stiles, feeling sweat and precum slicking them together, making the slide a sweet, much needed friction.

Derek is growling, he can feel it in his chest, and he knows Stiles feels it when he breaks the kiss to kiss and suck at Derek’s throat, leaving marks that fade too fast.

Derek’s claws graze against the curve of Stiles’ hip, and Stiles shudders, bucking uncontrollably against Derek’s lap. “Derek, I’m gonna,” he wraps his arms around Derek’s neck, clinging close for dear life as Derek runs his hand down his back, wrapping it across the small of Stiles’ back.

Stiles can’t finish his sentence, hugging Derek with all his might as his orgasm snaps through him. His thighs tense, clamping down against Derek’s hips, and Derek can feel the heat pooling across his stomach, dripping down his iliac furrow and the inside of his thigh.

That’s all it takes for his own control to snap, and he comes with a snarl, pressing fresh bruises into Stiles’ side, into his hip, shaking apart as he continues to rut up against Stiles’ cock and thighs. It’s all so slick and hot, Derek groans, smiling dizzily as his mouth is pried open by Stiles’ eager lips and tongue. Stiles bites at Derek’s mouth, shuddering through the end of his orgasm, trembling in Derek’s arms.

Derek is dizzy on the high, the fever breaking off in fragments, his wolf sated for a while longer. Stiles smells so fucking good, and his kiss drags Derek’s mind back to the present where his thoughts clear. “Good morning,” he sighs, pulling away from Stiles’ mouth to kiss his cheeks and forehead.

“You’re amazing, you know?” Stiles grins, kissing Derek’s lips again as he cards his fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “You know what would make you more amazing?”

“Do tell me,” Derek smirks against his mate’s mouth.

“If you carried me to the shower,” Stiles says, and then he’s sitting up, propping himself up with his hands splayed on Derek’s broad chest. “Please.”

Derek’s smirk broadens, and he surges up, rolling them out of the bed, Stiles’ limbs wrapped frantically around his shoulders and waist.

“With warning!”

Derek laughs, biting at Stiles’ shoulder. “Picking you up and carrying you to the shower now.”

“Smart ass,” Stiles snaps, and then Derek almost trips over his own feet and the sheet when Stiles reaches down and grabs his ass hard. “Smart ass with a great ass.”

“Thank you,” Derek says, and makes a point of showing his gratitude by gripping Stiles’ ass with one hand.

He sets Stiles down and leans into the shower, getting the water running.

In his peripheral, he can see Stiles leaning over the sink to look at himself in the mirror, his hand touching the very edge of his mating mark.

It's red and dark, the deeper wounds from Derek’s fangs nearly black compared to the rest of the crescent. Derek's proud that he at least licked al the blood off. Stiles’ skin around the mark is pale and clean.

Stiles pokes the mark until he winces. “It doesn't hurt very much… considering it looks like I was mauled by a dog.”

Derek scoffs. “There's magic in the bite. Even though you're human, it will heal without you having to constantly clean it or worry about infection. Part of that, I think, is because you’re a spark.”

In the mirror, Stiles’ eyes dance over to Derek’s reflection. He arches his brows. “So when you bit me… you weren’t one hundred percent sure what would happen?”

Ducking his head, Derek laughs. “Something like that.”

“Oh good, cause I don't think the hospital would let me leave if I went in there saying my future wolf husband was just making sure everyone knew I was spoken for while I was bleeding out,” Stiles says, grinning in the mirror.

Derek shakes his head and goes back to adjusting the shower water knobs. When a hand brushes between his shoulder blades Derek freezes, hand under the spray as it grows warm.

Derek can picture those long, nimble fingers tracing over the triskele between his shoulder blades, following the swirls down to the center before he feels Stiles’ breath warm on his skin.

When Stiles kisses that branded skin, Derek’s eyes slip shut, and he reaches behind himself blindly. Stiles offers a hand, and Derek draws it forward, wrapping Stiles’ arm around his waist. The other arm follows, and Derek slouches back into Stiles embrace, Stiles still kissing along his shoulders.

“You have no idea… how good this feels,” Derek sighs, allowing himself to be held.

Stiles grins, breath warm on Derek’s back as Derek starts kissing along his knuckles. “You’re just a big, fluffy, cuddly pup, aren’t you?”

Derek growls, a playful sound rumbling up in his chest, and he gnaws on Stiles’ slender fingers until Stiles squirms behind him. “The damage you could do to my reputation,” he says, pulling Stiles into the shower, right into his arms.

Stiles nuzzles into Derek’s chest, a gesture that the wolf wants to drown in, and Derek buries his face into Stiles’ hair, breathing him in as the spray of hot water soaks them both.

Stiles takes it upon himself to pour too much soap onto Derek’s loofa before he lathers them both up in enough bubbles to drown a small child.

“I think we’re clean,” Derek says, kissing under Stiles’ ear as he twists them under the rush of hot water, laughing when Stiles splutters and clings to him, nails blunt as they bite his wet skin.

“I think I missed a spot,” Stiles says, voice dropping to an octave that picks at Derek’s clarity. Those talented fingers wrap around Derek’s cock, stroking him from half hard to swollen and dripping with little effort.

Derek groans, twisting them so Stiles’ back is pressed to the cool tiles of the remodeled shower, hips stuttering as the wolf growls. “I think you may have,” he replies, and then buries two fingers in the crease of Stiles’ ass.

Stiles jolts, legs sliding open to accommodate Derek’s thigh slotting between them, Derek’s fingers stroking over his hole. “ Der ,” he whispers, voice needy and warm as he slides his hand down Derek’s cock and squeezes the base, where the knot swells.

Derek growls, bowing over Stiles, bending his arm to get the right angle. Then he sinks a finger into Stiles’ wet heat, and when Stiles moans Derek’s stomach burns.

“Still wet inside. Still all soft and slick; so full of me, Stiles,” Derek purrs against the shell of Stiles’ ear.

Stiles bucks up at that, mouth falling open and head tilting back against the wall. “Fuck, Derek.”

“You took it all so well. Fucked you open on my knot and you’re still so tight.” Derek twists a second finger into Stiles’ hole, turning his wrist until his fingertips brush that soft bundle of nerves just inside of Stiles. “Feels so fucking good, Stiles.”

Stiles’ eyes snap open, the ceiling spinning overhead when Derek stiles a third finger into him, hand stilling on Derek’s cock. It’s not because the stretch forces the air out of him, it feels fucking insane and good and right. It’s because when Derek crooks and scissors his fingers, Stiles can feel a rush of hot stickiness dripping out of his hole, trickling down the inside of his thigh, protected by the spray of the shower. Derek’s cum. Derek’s filthy good release is leaking out of him and Stiles can feel it.

He makes a startled, needy sound, wrapping his free arm around Derek’s shoulders, tangling his fingers into his dripping hair. “Please, Derek, god. More. Gimme more—fill me up again.”

Derek snarls, not the least bit human, and drags blunt teeth over the curve of Stiles’ shoulder, just beside the bruised crescent beneath his broken skin. “Leg up,” Derek commands, already forcing Stiles’ knee up to his hip. Stiles releases Derek’s cock in favor of tossing both arms around his neck, grinning deliriously when Derek fingers him deeper.

“I’m ready, Derek, please. I’m ready—all wet for you, please.”

Derek gnashes his teeth, grabbing Stiles by the hips, lifting him bodily off the floor. Stiles’ legs wind around his waist immediately, and Derek shoves him against the wall, swallowing Stiles’ moans through a bruising kiss.

Derek lines up his cock, dragging the head over Stiles’ hole slowly, drugging himself on the scent of Stiles’ arousal curling thick and cloying in the steamy, cramped space of the shower stall.

Pressing his face to Stiles’ throat, Derek inhales the heat of his pounding heartbeat and lets Stiles sink down onto him.

Stiles is as tight and hot as the night before, as if Derek never had him at all, barely gave him any prep before pulling him down onto his thick cock. But oh, Stiles wriggles his hips, shoves his forehead against Derek’s shoulder, and moans out a sound that only belongs to Derek. This is his. Only his.

“Mine,” Derek murmurs, smoothing a hand up Stiles’ back, between the cold tile wall and Stiles’ soft skin.

Stiles nods, nuzzling his face across Derek’s shoulder, back to his neck. “Please.”

Derek rocks his hips up, just a slight thing, and he can feel it down in his gut, pinching all his nerves. There’s something about being inside of Stiles that feels like freedom. Feels like the wolf under the pull of the full moon, feels like being alpha in a way Derek’s never felt it before.

“Stiles,” Derek breathes, holding Stiles hip so he can thrust up into him.

Stiles lets out a choked breath, one hand slipping across Derek’s back under the rush of water, nails scoring the skin in temporary marks of claim. “Please,” Stiles says again, and Derek closes his eyes.

The wolf growls hungrily in Derek’s chest, and Derek listens. He trusts.

This is his mate; their mate . There’s no place in the world safer for Stiles than in Derek’s arms, and Derek lets himself believe that.

Stiles cries out against Derek’s first hard thrust, and his breath gets trapped in his throat on the second. Derek holds him close, tight to his chest, using the slightest display of his inhuman strength to lift Stiles off his cock before slamming him back down onto it, hips rising up to meet gravity in a force that sends sparks off in Stiles’ gut.

Derek’s pace doesn’t falter, his rhythm steady as he presses Stiles to the wall, fucking up into his mate.

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” Derek groans, dragging his teeth along Stiles collarbone when he tilts his head back.

His reply is nothing more than a needy cry, an outburst ripped from his chest by Derek’s next thrust.

Derek growls. “Does it feel good, Stiles?”

Stiles moans, dragging his nails along Derek’s skin. “Fuck, you know it does.”

Grinning, Derek slows his pace, digging deep and slow, rolling his hips in a way he knows will make Stiles suffer. “Yeah… but I want to hear you say it.”

Stiles’ eyes open, glittering and hazy as Derek’s cock rubs his prostate, a slow and teasing drag of pressure. “ Fuck, fuck, Derek, it feels so good. Oh— ah, fuck.”

Derek thinks that may be his new favorite word, especially falling from Stiles’ mouth. He kisses the hinge of Stiles’ jaw and sets himself back to a slow, hard pace.

“Der, aaah, Der. I… oh, right there! Hn, harder, please, harder,” Stiles whimpers, hips stuttering as his thighs tense, wrapping tighter around Derek’s waist.

Derek purrs, a rumbling sound that Stiles swallows gratefully when Derek kisses him. “No. Just like this,” he murmurs, tingling pleasure crawling up his spine.

Stiles groans, but it's not in exasperation. It's more gratified, thankful and gracious as he tangles a hand into Derek’s hair and slides the other down his back. He takes nails across Derek’s skin, every thrust drawing a moan from his lips, the sounds pushed out of him every time Derek slides deep. Right where he belongs.

Derek relishes the sounds Stiles makes, feels them wash over his skin just like hot water. It's intoxicating, and Derek barely realizes it when he starts fucking Stiles harder.

When Stiles’ cries start to echo off the tiles of the shower and make Derek’s ears ring like howling, Derek snarls in response.

“You ready, Stiles? Gonna come for me, huh?”

Stiles chokes out an embarrassed, broken sound at that, clinging to Derek tighter, trying to climb closer even though there’s nowhere else for him to go. He nods frantically, turning his face to nuzzle his cheek against Derek’s. The friction of damp stubble on his soft cheek makes Stiles groan, the sound right against Derek’s ear.

Stiles bites his lip, and the hand clawing at the small of Derek’s back slides lower. His blunt nails bits at Derek’s ass cheek, soft flesh and firm muscle moving under his hand as Derek fucks him. Stiles goes just a bit further, a litany of pleasure escaping his parted lips.

Derek’s hips stutter, Stiles’ fingers digging into his ass, pulling his cheeks apart. He can feel the warm rush of water spilling down his back into the dip between his cheeks, feels one of Stiles’ fingers slip too close, pushing against his rim.

His cock jumps, a blinding wave of arousal punching him in the gut as Stiles moans against his throat, pressing his finger just a bit harder.

“You want my fingers inside you, Der? Would you let me? Get you nice and wet and fingerfuck you till you come for me? Oh my god, will you let me fuck you? Shit, you’d be so warm and tight, Derek—I’d take good care of you.” Stiles laughs then, breathless as he sinks just the tip of one finger past Derek’s rim. “You can take both my virginities. You’d like that, right?”

Derek’s brain hears something like ocean waves crashing on rocks, and he can feel himself slipping—snapping. He fucks up into Stiles hard and fast, snarling, clenching his teeth as his orgasm crests over him, knot swelling up inside of Stiles while he keeps pounding away.

Stiles’ cocky attitude immediately dissolves, and he throws his head back and chokes out a broken moan, painting Derek’s stomach with his cum as the knot presses against his prostate with unrelenting force.

Derek sinks to his knees, holding Stiles close, keeping him settled comfortable on his knot as he keeps coming into Stiles’ hot hole. It takes him several minutes to come back to himself, the feel of Stiles’ fingers carding through his hair, scratching over his scalp soothing him.

“I’m not a puppy,” Derek grumbles, slouching against Stiles’ chest, Stiles’ shoulders pressing against the wall as Derek hugs him more tightly.

“Sure,” Stiles hums, kissing the top of Derek’s head. “Ah. Got water in my ear.”

Derek laughs, kissing Stiles’ collar bone. “And you just offered me your only remaining virtue. An eventful morning.”

“So… would you let me?” Stiles says, and Derek hears the nervous tremor in his voice, the way it goes timid, completely against everything that is Stiles.

He lifts his head, kissing Stiles softly on the mouth, getting water in his own ear in the process. “Of course I would. It would be only fair, to give that to you. If you wanted to.” Stiles looks into his eyes, and Derek feels his chest caving in. “If you really… wanted to. I would like that… I want that. I really want that. It would have to be after the rut, though. I can’t… I can’t be vulnerable like this.”

Stiles nods. “I’ll wait. It’s not something I need right now.”

Derek smiles, pressing their foreheads together. “Okay.”

When the water starts to get kind of cold, Stiles makes enough complaint that Derek shuts off the water and tests the hold of the knot. It's still slightly puffed up, but he manages to pull out of Stiles without hurting either of them, stuffing two fingers into Stiles’ hole while kissing him filthily, slick leaking between Stiles’ cheeks.

Derek gets them a few towels and watches Stiles dry himself off before he sits on the toilet seat, wrapped in a towel.

“We just had sex… in your shower,” Stiles says, delirious to the point of giddy.

Derek kisses the top of his head. “Yeah. We did.”

“Check that off the list of fantasies,” Stiles grins, and Derek can’t fight his own smile.

“Shower sex?”

“Yup. Well, pick-up-fuck shower sex. Still got face-to-the-wall fucking on there,” Stiles says. “We can get to that later; your shower doesn’t seem really big enough to bend me over in.”

“Could slide the door open. Get water all over the floor.”

“You’re a genius.” Stiles ruffles his own hair with his towel again, watching Derek’s body move as he dries himself with more perfunctory movements.

“So.” Derek glances at Stiles, a smirk playing on his lips. “What else is on the fantasy list of yours?”

Stiles slouches back against the toilet, grinning. “Curious, are you?”

“How else can I cross off everything on it?” Derek purrs, and Stiles shudders when he curls his fingers under his jaw. Derek stoops down, dragging his nose along the hinge of Stiles’ jaw, drinking in his sweet, warm scent. “Don’t you want that?”

“W-well,” Stiles tries, rising up from the toilet seat, hands splayed across Derek’s chest as he bares his neck. “We’ve already covered knotting.”

A growl rumbles up from Derek’s chest, one of hunger and pleasure. “That was on your list?”

“Like, top five things. Maybe number two.”

“How long is this list?” Derek drags his teeth along Stiles’ throat, just to feel him squirm.

“Uhm, not very? I don’t think. I’m not sure. Uh… Riding. I liked riding your dick last night. I'd like to ride your knot. Hands and knees—fuck. Fuck . That was great. Do you mind if I call it doggy style still?”

“Not at the current time, no.” Derek curls one hand over Stiles’ hip, the other at his neck. He tilts Stiles’ neck further, pressing his thumb to his windpipe. Stiles’ breath hitches, and Derek smells the sudden salty sharp twist of Stiles’ arousal. He pauses, blinking at the wall over Stiles’ shoulder. It’s a curious delight, and Derek presses his thumb just a bit harder.

Stiles sags against him, mouth falling open before he seems to snap back to himself, blushing furiously, his embarrassment a taste that coats Derek’s tongue.

“You like that, baby?” Derek grumbles, licking from Stiles’ jaw to his ear.

Stiles shudders. “Uhm… Ah!”

Derek slides his hand forward, just enough for his fingers and thumb to circle across Stiles’ throat. “You do . Is that on your list?” He’s grinning like a smug little shit, but he can’t help it because his cock is so fucking hard it kind of hurts, and Stiles is pawing at his chest like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Derek leans back, just enough to see the image of his hand across Stiles’ throat, Stiles’ mouth agape, eyes shut, brows furrowed, flushed so warm and red Derek can smell his blood. He relents his gentle press in favor of curling his fingers under Stiles’ chin again, thumb brushing across his lips.

“…Yeah. Yeah, it’s on the list. It’s on the fucking list.” Stiles’ eyes flutter open, hands gripping the towel around Derek’s waist and tugging him closer.

“Uh huh.”

“Along with sixty-nine-ing, riding your face, sex in the woods, sex in the Camaro, being rimmed until I come, and of course, letting your wolf fuck me.”

“Anything else,” Derek hums hungrily, kissing down Stiles’ neck.

“Anything you can think of?” Stiles shivers. “Cause I have more, it's just not refined enough for the list.”

“Such as?”

Stiles mewls. “Uh, edging, possible orgasm denial, maybe some soft core bondage. I don't know, it just… sounds fun with you.”

“Sounds filthy,” Derek growls. “We'll work on that.”

“Kink negotiation. Sounds great. And also embarrassing.”

“It's healthy.”

“Uhm… what about you?” Derek can practically smell Stiles’ blush, the warm sweetness of it. “Any… kinks you wanna exercise? Things you want to d-do to me?”

“Oh, there’s plenty I’d love to do to you, Stiles.” Derek bites the corded tendon in Stiles throat gently, listens to his sharp intake of breath. “First… I’d like to get you some breakfast.”

Stiles practically glows. “Are you going to carry me to that, too?”

Derek presses their foreheads together and sighs. “If you'd like me to.”

Stiles nuzzles against him, his hands finding Derek’s blindly. “I think I'll be ok, if I could just have some clothes. Kinda cold now that I'm damp.”

Grinning, Derek takes them back to his room, putting on a pair of sweats. He finds Stiles a shirt that doesn't drown him and a pair of briefs that fit him like boxers.

“You have too much ass. You know, that's what this means,” Stiles says, sliding a finger around his loose waistband as Derek scrambles eggs in a skillet. Stiles is beside him idly flipping pancakes more times than necessary. It feels so good.

“But you like it,” Derek says, and Stiles ignores his cooking pancakes in favor of wrapping his arms around Derek so he can run up on him.

“I like a great many things. I'm a connoisseur of sorts.”

“Can you spell that?”

“Can you?”

“Yes, but I don't have to. I'm not a connoisseur,” Derek says, and then turns and plates up the eggs. “Get our pancakes.”

Stiles does. They sit close together at the small dining table and eat, Stiles trying to talk around mouthfuls of egg with ketchup.

When Derek finishes eating, he drags Stiles’ chair over to his.

“Still eating here,” Stiles says, letting Derek slide a hand up his thigh under the briefs.

“Yeah, but I finished eating and I'm still hungry.” Derek growls against Stiles’ neck, brushing his palm against Stiles’ bare cock. He's soft and warm under the thin cotton, and the touch of Derek’s rough palm makes Stiles’ length twitch with interest.

Deeeeer, I'm full of pancake,” Stiles protests weakly, licking his lips as his hips lift into Derek’s touch.

“Should be full of something else,” Derek grumbles, and Stiles makes a fluttering sound before Derek is shocked back by a hand swatting his face. He blinks, and his expression mimics a dog that had been smacked on the nose for licking.

“No. No, no, back up. We can't have marathon sex without breaks, you dirty dog,” Stiles flounders. “My body doesn't… it can't just—Derek?”

Derek is smiling, reaching up to cup Stiles’ face in both hands. “I just… love you.”

Stiles blushes to the tips of his ears. He swallows loudly. “I love you too.”

“We can take a break for as long as you want, okay? I'll keep my hands off if you need me to.” Derek leans forward, brushing his lips against Stiles’. Gently at first, then greedily as he passes his tongue over Stiles’ soft lips and tongue. He tastes like syrup and warm grass, and Derek growls against his lips. “Finish your pancakes,” Derek says, kissing up Stiles’ cheek.

“Thank you, tha… thanks,” Stiles says dreamily, raking his fingers through Derek’s hair. “You know, uh… it's not a matter of want. Like, my libido is ready for you, big guy. Just…”

Derek smirks. “I understand, Stiles. Your ass needs a break.”

Stiles snorts, burying his face against Derek’s neck. “Exactly. Your magical werewolf dick could kill me.”

“I'll do my best to keep that from happening,” Derek says.

Stiles finishes up his breakfast and insists that Derek let him do the dishes. Cleanliness is one aspect, but letting Derek rest a bit longer is also Stiles’ priority.

Stiles sets the last dish into the drying rack as Derek’s arms circle round his waist.

“Der? You o- kay? ” Stiles breaks off on a moan, one of Derek’s hands palming over his dick through his borrowed briefs.

“I was good… wasn't I?” Derek grumbles, and Stiles can feel how warm he is close behind him.

“Very good. Thank you… good break. Nice break,” Stiles says quickly, stomach turning. “So… what's, uh, what's happening here?”

Derek grins, nuzzling his face into the back of Stiles’ neck. “Told you I’m still hungry.”

Stiles sighs, rocking his ass back against Derek’s groin. He can feel his cock, hard and thick, swelling hot through his thin pajama bottoms. Stiles bites his lip. “What do you need, Der?”

A growl vibrates through Derek’s ribs, and he drags his fangs over Stiles’ neck. He keeps palming his dick with one hand, the other snaking down to drag Stiles’ briefs down under the curve of his ass. “You know what I need.” He rocks his hips up and his dick presses to the crack of Stiles’ ass through his own thin pajamas.

Groaning, Stiles drops his head back, baring the side of his throat for Derek. “Take it then. I’m all yours.”

“Stiles,” Derek huffs. His breath is hot and wet on Stiles’ throat. Stiles gasps, feeling the wetness leaking from Derek’s cockhead soaking through his pants, damp against Stiles’ ass.

“Oh my god, please,” Stiles chokes.

“What is that?” Derek grumbles, his hand fisting Stiles’ cock, the other reaching for his own pants.


“That sound… Irritating.”

Stiles’ ears strain, and then he can hear it. It’s faint, but it’s definitely his phone vibrating on the living room floor. “That… oh my god! ” Stiles tears away from Derek, stumbling into the living room.

Derek growls behind him as Stiles dives over the couch and onto the floor. His phone had been on the arm of the couch, but now it’s nowhere to be seen, and Stiles digs under the cushions and feels between the pillows and then, finally, looks under the couch.

There it is!

Stiles grabs his phone and immediately starts cursing, his free arm flailing. He isn’t sure if he should answer. It’s between calls, so he can see the history on the screen, and it’s not good. Definitely no Bueno. About a dozen texts from Scott and five calls, several texts from Allison that look like Scott’s text speech, and then about fifteen missed calls from his dad.

And then his phone is buzzing again and it’s Stiles’ dad.

“Who is it?” Derek sys, leaning over the back of the couch.

Stiles stuffs his knuckles into his mouth. “It’s my dad.”


“What do you mean alright?!”

“Answer the phone. Tell him you were with me. I’m sick,” Derek supplies, and Stiles glances up at him and sees the dim glow of red in his eyes.


The fever is coming back to Derek’s blood, the wolf restless again, and Stiles feels his stomach quiver. He looks back down at his phone and groans, rising to his feet before he answers.

“Hey dad.” Stiles is pacing before he can get a word in edgewise. “No, I’m fine! I’m not hurt, nothing’s wrong. I just misplaced my phone and it was on silent. I’m at Derek’s. I know, I can see Scott told you. Well, Derek’s sick. It’s a wolf thing. No, he’s not contagious.”

Derek leans against the couch, only half listening to Stiles’ father’s voice on the other end. There’s concern, and scolding, and then there’s Stiles’ hands fluttering anxiously at the hem of his shirt. There’s Stiles’ bare neck when he turns away from Derek and groans into the phone… And oh, Stiles didn’t pull his briefs up. They’re still snugly tucked under the curve of his ass, and when he turns again, his half-hard cock is half visible over the rustled elastic waistband.

Derek growls.

Stiles looks at him. “Huh? No, he’s fine, that was just a hunger growl,” Stiles says into the phone, but his eyes are raking over Derek’s bare torso, down from his throat to his naval. Stiles gulps. “It’s alright, dad. I’m sorry I made you guys worry. I… I was just very busy. Trying to take care of Derek. You know, just lookin’ out for a friend in need.”

Derek snorts, and Stiles turns away from him again. “Yeah, dad. Uh-huh. I don’t know, it seems like he’s getting much better pretty fast. Maybe another day or two. Uh, I have no responsibility other than to serve my big bad wolf.”

Stiles chokes on his startled cry when Derek’s hands grip his hips from behind, claws already grown out, and then Derek’s stubble drags across his left ass cheek. Stiles spins around abruptly, which is a mistake, really, because then Derek is licking the tip of his cock like it’s a melting ice cream cone.

A whimper escapes Stiles’ throat, and he tries to reply to whatever his dad has said, but then Derek drags the boxers down further and takes Stiles’ whole cock into his mouth. When he looks up at Stiles through his lashes, his eyes are glowing red as embers.

“Yeah. I’m gonna text Scott, let him know I’m not dead in a ditch. And I promise, I’ll call later today,” Stiles says, and he drops his head back and holds the phone away from his ear while he lets out a shuddery exhale.

“End the conversation, Stiles,” Derek growls, licking teasingly at Stiles’ slit. He kneads Stiles’ ass in one hand, the other trailing fingertips down his crack, pressing at his hole but not giving him what he needs.

“Uh, I think Derek needs me, dad. Gotta hold his hair back while he pukes,” Stiles says, aiming for anything un-sexy. “Uh-huh. Make sure you eat health yyyyy , oh . Oh, yeah, it’s rough. Gotta go, dad. Love ya.”

Stiles hangs up just as Derek presses a fingertip to his rim, sinking his finger in to the first knuckle. “I need to text Scott… tell him I’m not dead.”

“You need to get my dick in your ass,” Derek growls, pulling Stiles’ briefs down around his ankles. Stiles steps out of them shakily, his thumbs typing rapidly.

“I can multitask,” he says, and then Derek bites his hip and pulls his finger out. Stiles sends the text, which is mostly incoherent words and extra letters, and then drops his phone on the couch, letting Derek guide him down onto his knees.

“I bet you can,” Derek snarls, running his hands up Stiles’ sides, pulling his shirt up and off in the process. Then Stiles is naked, hard, and burning up on his knees in Derek’s living room.

Stiles groans, Derek’s broad hands caging his ribs while Derek’s tongue and teeth work over his collar bones and nipples. His hands skitter over Derek’s arms, up his shoulders. When Derek tugs his cock at the same time as he bites Stiles’ nipple sharply, Stiles tugs on Derek’s hair and moans. It sounds filthy, louder as it bounces off the vaulted ceiling and echoes around the loft.

“Derek, I need it. Please, alpha,” Stiles sighs, and Derek releases him with one hand, digging into the pocket of his sweats. He produces a bottle of lube and uncaps it, squeezing a messy, generous helping onto his fingers before he’s stuffing two of them into Stiles’ hole and crooking them roughly.

Stiles’ hips buck, a jolt of pleasure biting at his nerves, followed by a wave of burning heat. “Sneaky,” he gasps.

“Can’t hurt you. Need to be prepared; always,” Derek huffs against Stiles’ throat, twisting and thrusting his fingers deep as he can get. The angle is intense, Stiles’ thighs trembling, arms around Derek’s neck, and he couldn’t breathe through his nose if he was ordered to.

“Good boy scout,” Stiles groans, and then Derek slips in a third finger, angling his wrist as Stiles’ knees slip further apart.

He’s glad Derek redecorated. The new throw rug is much more comfortable than the hard wood or concrete or whatever the floors are made of. Stiles isn’t a fucking carpenter. But he does have knees, and they are already kind of sore, just from rocking forward, trying to get Derek’s fingers deeper.

“Can you ride me, baby?” Derek groans, and Stiles can hear the growl, barely contained in his chest.

“You don’t want me on my hands and knees, alpha?”

Derek shudders. “There’s plenty of time for that later. Want you to fuck yourself on my knot, like you said you wanted to. Want you to ride my knot.”

Stiles’ brain goes a tiny bit static at that, and he nods, dragging his nails down Derek’s back. “Yes. Fuck, yeah, I can do that. I can take it, Der.”

“I know you can,” Derek says, and then he’s kissing Stiles with a surprising gentleness for the desperation Stiles can feel humming under his skin.

Derek lays back and Stiles drags a few pillows off the couch, tossing them at Derek. Derek arches a brow.

“The floor is hard,” Stiles says.

Derek palms his dick through his sweats, and Stiles gets his first good look at the wet patch leaking through the soft material. “That’s not all that’s hard.”

“Oh my god, I love you,” Stiles gasps, and he catches the smile on Derek’s face before he ducks down to kiss Derek’s stomach. Stiles drags Derek’s sweats down enough to expose his cock, and he reaches for the discarded bottle of lube and pours some into his palm. He slicks up Derek’s cock slowly, teasing both of them by making them wait.

Stiles glances up at Derek’s face, watches his burning red eyes slip shut as his mouth falls open. His fangs have dropped, and Stiles feels an ache in his skin, right where his neck and shoulder meet. He jacks Derek’s dick just a bit longer, loving the feel of it blood-hot and heavy, too big for his fingers to wrap around, slick against his palm.

“Please,” Derek whispers, and his hands flex on the floor, claws dragging across the carpet. “F-fever. My wolf, Stiles.” He trails off, snarling at the ceiling.

“You holding back for me, Derek?” Stiles says, and he only sounds half as teasing as he means to be.

Derek growls, head thrashing to the side. In his chest, it’s like a fire. Every cell in Derek’s body knows how to put the fire out—claim. But that’s mindless instinct, and Derek is not a mindless animal. “Get on my dick right this fucking second.”

Very gently, Stiles says, “Shh. I’m right here. I’m here to take care of you, Derek.”

Derek whines, a high, keening sound, and he isn’t sure if the wolf makes the same sound.

“Derek? Look at me,” Stiles says, and Derek opens his eyes and lifts his head, panting. Stiles straddles Derek’s waist, leaning down to kiss him slowly, lips brushing and tongues softly touching. “I’m here,” Stiles says against Derek’s mouth, and then he drags his cheek across Derek’s, scratching at his stubble, scenting him.

Nodding, Derek blinks, dazed, and watches Stiles scoot back down his body. Stiles presses one hand to Derek’s heaving chest to steady himself, the other reaching back, holding Derek’s dick steady. Stiles bites his lip, lifting his hips in concentration. The first brush of Derek’s dick against his slick opening has them both gasping, but Derek remains still as Stiles presses the head in.

“That’s it, baby,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles looks up at him. Derek holds that gaze as Stiles sinks down the first few inches, and then a bit more, and then Stiles plants both of his hands on Derek’s chest and moans, full bodied and satisfied, as he sits on Derek’s cock, taking him in to the hilt, ass flush to Derek’s thighs.

“Feels… fucking amazing like this,” Stiles shudders, eyes falling shut. His nails scratch down Derek’s chest, fading marks that sting briefly, enough to make Derek growl in hunger.

“So good, Stiles. You feel so fucking good,” Derek says.

“Touch me,” Stiles pleads, and Derek puts his hands on Stiles’ narrow hips. He brushes his thumbs over the jut of bone, teasing close to Stiles’ cock.

Stiles is so gorgeous, eyes shut, mouth soft, cheeks and throat flushed, Derek’s cock completely sheathed inside him. Derek’s hips stutter, and Stiles moans, a dizzied smile spreading across his lips. “C’mon, Stiles. You said you wanted this. Ride my cock, baby.”

Stiles groans, tilting his hips experimentally. “Gimme a break. First time I’ve ever done this.”

Derek ruts his hips up, and Stiles gasps, a delirious smile touching his lips at the spark of pleasure. “I have… full confidence in your abilities.”

Huffing, Stiles does his best to make Derek proud. Derek’s cock is fucking huge; Stiles knew this. But it feels so full and good inside, like Stiles was made just for his alpha. He rocks his hips, then lifts slightly, sliding back down slowly. He and Derek groan together, and Stiles sits back a bit, setting his hands on Derek’s forearms, fingers trembling.

Derek watches, breathing shallowly, and when Stiles lifts up and the drops back down much faster, Derek drops his head down against the floor. He growls, eager.

“That’s it, Stiles,” Derek sighs, and Stiles tilts his head down, watching Derek’s face as he builds up a rhythm.

At some point, and neither of them are sure when because they’re too lost looking into each other’s’ eyes, Stiles’ pace becomes needy and quick, and Derek’s hips are lifting to meet him when he slams down on Derek’s cock.

“Fuck, yes. Like that,” Stiles moans, one hand fisted at the base of his cock, the other braced against Derek’s abs.

“Feel good, baby?”

“Yes, Der, fuck . Harder.”

“You ready for my knot?”

Please . I’m ready. I want it, need you to fill me up, Derek.”

Derek snarls, and he takes Stiles hips in his hands. “Lean back,” he instructs, and lifts his knees up, digging his heels into the carpet. The shift makes Stiles gasp, and then all he can do is cry out helplessly as Derek fucks up into him at a brutal pace. Derek drags Stiles on and off his cock, and when he pulls down he fucks his hips up, drilling Stiles’ prostate relentlessly.

Stiles’ head falls back, and he moans and cries and screams until his voice starts breaking. It feels so fucking good, fire and sparks in Stiles’ belly, in his veins. There’s just him, just Derek, just this . His mate, needing him, carnal and pure as fire.

“Derek, I’m gonna come,” Stiles gasps, and Derek’s only response is to growl through his teeth and fuck Stiles harder. That’s all the wolf wants.

With a cry trapped in his throat, Stiles comes all over Derek’s stomach and chest, ropes of spunk splashing hot on Derek’s skin.

Stiles feels shaky, dizzy, and when Derek calls to him, tugs gently, he goes without a fight.  Derek pulls him down against his chest, kissing the top of Stiles’ head as Stiles slides his arms over Derek’s shoulders.

“Gimme, alpha. Gimme your knot, stuff me full, come inside me,” Stiles groans, pressing his face hard against Derek’s neck.

Derek whines, and snarls, and then his hips are stuttering and Stiles can feel the knot pulling at his rim, swelling inside him.

“Yeah, that’s it. Good boy,” Stiles says, and then he sits up shakily, grinding his hips down against Derek’s, his fingers in his own sticky cum as Derek squeezes his eyes shut and cries out. His knot is snug inside Stiles, and sitting on it, the angle their position creates, has Stiles drooling and shaking.

He’s overwhelmed by stimulus and riding the high of it, his whole body trembling as Derek’s hips shudder beneath him.

Derek’s chest heaves with every breath, and when he blindly reaches for one of Stiles’ hands, Stiles laces their fingers together and sighs.

“Feel better, wolfy?” The sound Derek makes is close to a purr, and Stiles grins. He dizzily rolls his hips, testing the knot, feeling it rub teasingly against his prostate. “God, this angle is great.”

“You’re not hurt, are you? I got a little carried away,” Derek says, and he pulls on Stiles’ hand. Stiles leans over him, resting one hand on the floor beside Derek’s shoulder to prop himself up, smiling fondly as Derek kisses his palm.

“I think I’m okay. Getting used to it, I think, but fuck . It’s never going to stop feeling this good , is it?”

Derek shakes his head. “I hope not. Especially once our bond is a whole one. Everything will be different.”

“Hm… like how?” Stiles lays down on Derek’s chest, the knot a comfortable press inside him.

“Magic stuff. You’re not a wolf, but you have a spark, and that spark combined with my own alpha power will be enough for the bond between us to change things for you. And me. We’ll feel the distance between each other, share sensations, feelings. We’ll be connected in a way that’s difficult to explain in words,” Derek says. “If you ever have any questions, Deaton may know better… I just know that a mating bond is one of the most powerful ties a being can experience in this world.”

Stiles hums, his lids drooping, Derek’s fingers tracing absent patterns along his back.


Stiles hums again in way of response.

“…I love you.”

A smile spreads across Stiles’ face, and he nuzzles into Derek’s chest as Derek wraps his arms around him, holding him close. “Mine,” Stiles mumbles, and then his breathing steadies, and Derek can tell his mate has fallen asleep on him.

Feeling well loved and thoroughly satisfied, he follows his mate into the bliss of a fucked-out nap.



The rest of the day is spent in a sluggish state as Derek’s wolf rests. Derek knows his fever will reach its peak some time in the next twelve hours, and then his rut will be over. He holds Stiles close on the couch as they watch Planet Earth and drink plenty of water.

“My fever is going to get rough tonight… it would be best if you stayed away from me until then—so you could rest,” Derek says against Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles snorts. “A wolf doesn't abandon their mate when they're in need.”

“You aren't a wolf. Your body… Stiles—”

“Hey… I'm fine. And you've shown that when I'm not fine, you can exercise some restraint. So it's going to be okay, okay?” Stiles says, and he lifts Derek's hand and kisses his knuckles.

“You’re… everything I need, aren’t you?”

“Just about,” Stiles says, grinning.

“Stiles, tonight I'm going to ask you for my mark, and when that happens, there's going to be so much magic in my veins I'll be… when you and I bond, it…” Derek growls.

“I know, Der… I'll be ready for it. Not to worry, sourwolf, your mate is prepared and totally stoked.”


Stiles laughs.

“You're going to be a pain in my ass for the rest of our lives. I can't believe I didn't think of that before this moment,” Derek says snidely, and Stiles hums thoughtfully.

“Well, too late to back out now. You're stuck with me.” Stiles sits up on the couch and pats Derek’s thigh. “Let's head back to the nest.”

“Den. It's a den, I'm not a bird,” Derek says, taking Stiles’ hand and letting himself be led back to his room.

“Right, of course.” Stiles drags Derek onto the bed, pushing the mess of blankets around and then dragging them over their bodies.

It's warm and stuffy, the smell of sex oddly comforting in Stiles’ nose. It smells like Derek, like musk and sweat, and it smells like sugar and Stiles.

It smells like them .

Derek drags Stiles close against his chest, curling around him, and Stiles hums happily. “I never thought sweat and jizz could smell so good.”

Derek huffs a laugh against his neck. “You're already behaving like a wolf… unless Stiles the human has always been a complete pervert.”

“Caught me.”

Derek squeezes him tighter. “I did.”

The swell of burning-sweet in Derek’s nose makes his chest ache, and his answering growl has Stiles going pliant in his arms. As if by instinct, Stiles offers his throat, and Derek scents the smooth column of bare skin and licks the warm pulse.

Derek wonders how he would stay sane if Stiles was a wolf. An omega, most likely, fiery and teasing and his . He wonders how Stiles’ scent, already a drug to him, would smell ripe with heat, slick dripping down his thighs for Derek’s knot. It makes Derek grumble contentedly, and when his cock starts to get hard against the curve of Stiles’ ass, Stiles takes the initiative and gets Derek fucking between his slick thighs slow and hungry within minutes.

Stiles has a refractory period like a wolf. Derek marvels at this, lying behind Stiles with his knot between Stiles’ thighs, Stiles lazily stroking his own cock. They’ve had sex more times than he can count, Stiles is smattered with bruises and hickies and thin claw lines, and he wants to keep going every time Derek stops. Every breather seems to be too long, and the few naps they have taken give Stiles energy like Derek has never seen.

“You can relax, you know. I’ll still want you when the rut is over,” Derek sighs, kissing Stiles’ shoulder, smoothing a hand down over his side to his hip.

Stiles makes a disapproving sound. “But you won’t want me this much for another year ,” he grumbles.

Smiling, Derek moves Stiles hand away, replacing it with his own. “But I will. Always.”

“Not always. You’re gonna get old before me. I’ll have to do all the work in bed.”

Derek bites his shoulder for that.

Stiles rocks his hips lightly, up into Derek’s fist. “I just… I wanna stay here for, like, ever. Until your dick breaks.”

“You said it was a magic werewolf dick that can never stop,” Derek hums.

Stiles just moans at that, maybe because Derek is rolling his hips and twisting his wrist on the upstroke. “Then we should stay in this bed forever,” Stiles sighs, and Derek presses him close and arches his neck when Stiles tugs on his hair.

“We could. Keep you full of my cum with my knot up your ass all hours of the day. We could die fucking,” Derek says.

“A wolf after my own heart,” Stiles grins, reaching back, pressing his fingers into the muscle of Derek’s thigh.

“You’re filthy,” Derek hums.

“So… are we gonna tell everybody we’re engaged when this is over?” Stiles says, breathless, nearly asleep.

Derek brushes a hand down his arm, hugging him closer while threading their fingers together. “They’ll know.”

“Werewolf sixth sense?”

After a snort that Stiles decides is the cutest sound in the world, Derek hugs him even tighter, rocking against Stiles sinfully.

Stiles’ breath catches.

“They’ll know because when this rut is through, you’ll be so marked up and so full of my cum they’ll see it and smell it on you until the next full moon.” He purrs at that, nuzzling the back of Stiles’ neck, reveling in the way he shudders. “But there’s no way I’ll ever be away from you long enough for my scent to leave your skin; or for yours to leave mine. I’ll have you like this every night if you let me. And if you don’t, I’ll hold you and scent you and kiss you so often it won’t even matter. Every time you move, every other wolf will smell me. And every time I move, I’ll smell you. It’s gonna drive me crazy,” Derek says, laving his tongue up the back of Stiles’ neck before nestling his face into the thick of his hair. “Mine. My mate, my Stiles.”

“Oh… wow,” Stiles murmurs, and Derek can smell his warmth, the blush rising in his blood, how Derek's words have gotten Stiles buzzing under his skin.

“Yeah,” Derek says, burying his face in the back of Stiles’ neck, tired and sated for now. “Wow.”



The next morning follows the same, with Derek suffering through four orgasms--by Stiles’ mouth, his thighs, and his hand, twice-- before Stiles is given one. Derek says it’s to limit strain on Stiles’ body, to help him last longer when Derek really needs to use his body to seek out pleasure. Stiles says Derek’s just being stingy, and so Derek lets the wolf loose on him.

It’s early in the evening when Stiles has his third orgasm, each one taking much longer to be drawn out of him than Derek’s. It’s punishment, it’s torture.

Stiles is in heaven.

“Good boy, my Stiles,” Derek says, rubbing his thumbs against Stiles’ hips as Stiles rides him to another high of burning completion.

Stiles feels that molten heat slosh about in his belly, and he draws up tight like a bow being strung. “D-Derek,” he manages, before he’s spilling over Derek’s fist. It’s less this time, less wet and sticky, but Stiles feels it deeper in his bones, biting through his muscles as he tenses up so tight he can feel things popping in his back.

He doesn’t even scream, just drops his face against Derek’s chest and pants open-mouthed as white lights burn behind his eyes, his toes curled and his thighs shaking.

Everything goes white and hazy, and when Stiles comes back to himself, he’s slumped against Derek’s chest, breathing steadily.

Derek’s brushing fingertips up and down his back soothingly, and his knot has gone down. But an experimental wiggle tells Stiles’ he’s still hard, hot and thick buried in him to the hilt.

He whimpers.

Derek presses a palm to his back, kissing the top of Stiles’ head with a deep, rumbling purr. “Can I go again?”

Stiles doesn’t reply verbally. Well, aside from a pathetic moan and a motion of his head that could pass for a nod.

Growling, Derek holds Stiles against him and rolls them over, pressing Stiles into the mattress, settling over him between his thighs without slipping out of him.

Stiles has an idea why; he’s full of Derek’s cum. He shudders at the thought, manages to find the strength in his arms to lift them and card both hands through Derek’s sweat mussed hair.

Derek starts rocking into him slowly, warm, deep strokes that have Stiles gasping and sighing drowsily.

“You with me, Stiles?” Derek says, and Stiles pulls him down for a kiss that’s as slow and languid as the rock of Derek’s hips. Their lips brush and tease, the softest bit of tongue, and Stiles feels his cock thickening against his stomach.

He moans into Derek’s mouth, breathing heavily as he laces his fingers together behind Derek’s neck. Derek sits up a bit, separating them by propping an arm up next to Stiles’ hip, the other beside his shoulder. The slow roll of Derek’s hips makes Stiles shudder, and he hikes his legs up, wrapping his thighs around Derek’s hips, digging his heels into his ass.

Derek growls.

“I'm gonna die. Can't take much more of this,” Stiles gasps.

Derek kisses his forehead, rocking slowly. “The fever is almost over. I can feel it. I just… I still want you so badly.”

“Then… I’ll have to hold out for a bit longer, huh?”

Derek kisses his forehead firmly again, squeezing Stiles tighter. “My good Stiles. Good mate,” he grumbles, smiling as his kisses move down from Stiles’ forehead to his cheeks, jaw, and then his neck.

“I love you,” Stiles slurs, fingers tangling through Derek’s hair.

By the time Stiles’ dick is fully hard, he’s more awake, and he’s capable of being a match for his mate. So he arches his back and bares his throat and tells Derek filthy things that crack his control thrust by thrust.

“So thick, Derek. Fuck, you feel so good. Wish you were in rut all the time, ah! There, oh, god. Fuck , alpha, harder,” Stiles groans. He drops his arms over his head, opening himself up to Derek’s mercy as one clawed hand grips his hip and starts pulling him down onto Derek’s dick when he thrusts up.

There’s a distinct heat coming off Derek’s skin, and Stiles knows he’s in the fever again, knows Derek’s wolf is closer to the forefront of his mind again, and Stiles fucking wants. It feels dangerous, being under Derek as he can sense Derek’s control thinning, the spike of the rut stronger than anything before. Stiles can’t hold on much longer.

“When are you gonna let your wolf fuck me?” Stiles purrs, and Derek’s head—previously bowed with his teeth grit—snaps up, his eyes meeting Stiles’.

They’re blazing blood red.

Stiles grins, running one hand down his throat, playing with a pert nipple. “Next full moon maybe? We can go out into the preserve. I could let you chase me through the woods, get you all worked up so when you caught me you’d just push me into the dirt and fuck me raw.”

Derek snarls, and Stiles is momentarily startled when Derek pulls back. But he’s back a second later, holding Stiles’ legs under the knees, pushing them down until Stiles is bared open wide and Derek is fucking into his sloppy hole with renewed heat.

It hurts, but fuck , it hurts so good, and Stiles pulls at his own hair as Derek ruts into him, snarling with every thrust.

“Fuck, Derek, it’s gonna feel so good! I’ll be so good for you; stretch myself out before, leave myself wet and open for you. You’d be so warm, so big. I’d whine like a good omega when you knotted me.” Stiles is rambling, can’t shut up, but he does when Derek snarls and snaps his hips so hard Stiles’ feels something inside him shift. His belly lights up, and black stars dance at the corners of his vision.

You always talk too much, Stiles, ” Derek growls, eyes burning as he pins Stiles with his stare. “ But if that’s what my mate wants, I’ll give it to you. I’ll show you how the wolf likes it; fuck you raw on the forest floor until you’ve come so much it hurts. Then I’ll keep fucking you. I’ll knot you so deep and so much it’ll leak out of you. And you’ll be my good little omega, and you’ll just take it.”

“Derek, please ,” Stiles cries, reaching out for Derek with both hands. Tears run down his temples, soaking his hair, and Derek whimpers and curls over him, resting on one elbow while he kisses Stiles frantically. His other arm holds Stiles’ knee to his side, holding him open for deeper access as Derek keeps fucking into him with those rough, pointed, desperate thrusts.

Stiles feels sparks in his blood, his cock throbbing and desperate for release. Derek’s tongue is hot in his mouth, his teeth sharp when they brush Stiles’ lips, and Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s broad shoulders and holds on desperately.

“I’d do anything for you,” Stiles whispers hotly against Derek’s lips, and Derek groans and turns, burying his face in Stiles’ neck as he keeps on fucking him.

I’d do anything to you,” Derek says playfully against Stiles’ thundering pulse, and Stiles bites his lip and runs one hand down Derek’s back. He feels the raised skin of the triskele, drags his nails lovingly across it before he gets a handful of Derek’s flawless ass and digs in. Derek growls, and it sounds like he’s smiling before he bites Stiles’ throat.

It’s enough pressure to bruise, but not to break the skin. Stiles bucks his hips up and cries out. “Shit, Derek, I’m gonna come.”

Derek purrs, picking up the pace. He fucks Stiles desperately, barely pulling out before he’s fucking back in deep and hard and fast.

Broken cries and trembling moans keep getting punched out of Stiles, and he holds onto Derek like the world will end if he lets him go. Maybe it will.

“Tell me, Stiles. Tell me you’re mine. Say it for me, please,” Derek breathes against Stiles’ neck, and everything is so hot and damp and sweaty, and all Stiles can smell is Derek, all he hears is his harsh breathing, all he can feel is Derek’s body all over him, inside him.

And there’s nothing that Stiles ever was before this. His shoulder aches tenderly, and he can taste magic in the back of his throat like honey. “ Yours . I’m yours, Derek, all yours. My mate, my alpha,” Stiles gasps, blinking tears and sweat out of his eyes.

He doesn’t know why he’s crying, but it feels good. He’s dragging in air in shallow breaths, unable to get a lungful before Derek fucks it right out of him with a desperate sound. Stiles is dizzy again, his fingers tingling and his toes curling, that twisting coil of heat drawing up tight in his abdomen, his cock leaving wet streaks on his and Derek’s stomach.

Derek lifts up and kisses him, cupping one side of Stiles’ face in his huge, warm hand, pressing their lips over and over, breathing into each other’s mouths.

Derek’s mouth drops open against Stiles’ lips, as if he’s going to speak. But all that comes out is a low, rumbling growl, and he looks into Stiles’ eyes, brows furrowed as he pressed their foreheads together.

“My Derek,” Stiles says, and he can feel the heat pooling and then cresting in a wave. He tips his head back and groans, then cries out, his muscles spasming as he comes jet after jet of slick cum between his stomach and Derek’s.

Derek whimpers, and Stiles is blinking up at the ceiling in a daze as Derek keeps fucking him, forcing his back to arch high as Derek lifts his hips. Then Derek is lapping at the spunk all over Stiles’ chest and abdomen, everything he can reach. He’s licking frantically, loudly. Like a dog.

Stiles’ cock jerks, another thin spurt of cum dripping down his length at the sensation.

He’s sensitive and tingling when he feels Derek’s knot catch on his rim, swelling and swelling, making Stiles feel full, so full… fuller than—

He reaches a hand between them and lays it down against his lower abdomen, just against the dusting of hair on his tummy.

Derek watches as he presses down, mouth falling open as he licks his chops with a loud smack.

Stiles writhes and moans, his face screwing up as he feels the pressure of Derek’s cock inside him, feels the thick of Derek’s cum filling him, feels his knot when he clenches down around it.

Fuck , Der, more,” Stiles whispers, and Derek drops his head forward, the shift on the edge of his features. Stiles touches his cheek with trembling fingers, and he feels the ridge of bone sharpen as Derek shifts to his beta form. Stiles rakes his fingers through the dark stubble across Derek’s strong jaw and grins. “That’s it, Derek, holy shit.”

Derek roars, the sound raising shivers across Stiles’ skin as he feels Derek’s cock jerk inside him, flooding him with another thick load of his spunk.

Stiles moans against the rocking of Derek’s hips as the thrusts become aborted, jerky and unsteady as Derek shakes above him. He collapses down onto his elbows, stuffing his hands under Stiles’ shoulders so he can hug him close as he kisses and licks at his mating mark, up his throat, under his jaw.

Even though he knows there’s no escape, Stiles wriggles his hips, testing the hold of the knot. It’s a maddeningly sweet tug on his sore, puffy rim, and Stiles moans out a laugh. Derek keens sweetly, nipping at Stiles’ pulse. He kisses all of Stiles that he can reach, his heavy breathing evening out slowly in the sweaty, glowing warmth of the afterglow.

Stiles’ mouth hangs open and he runs one hand up Derek’s arm, over his shoulder. If he were a fertile female, there’s no way he wouldn’t be full of Derek’s pups. His first litter. A handful of tiny Hales, or maybe just one, with Derek’s dark hair and Stiles’ moles and sassy mouth and Derek’s ability to lead.

“Don’t want a female… just want my Stiles,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles realizes that some part of his internal monologue was said aloud.

Derek props himself up on one elbow, smiling down at Stiles. His usually perfect hair is sticking up and down in odd directions, tangled by Stiles’ fingers and sweat. His tanned skin is flushed rose, and Stiles is taken aback by those gorgeous hazel eyes, so many shards of color—emerald, honey, bronze, jade—that for a moment he forgets how to breathe.

“I… I’m delusional. I don’t know what I’m saying,” Stiles murmurs, blushing. Well, he would be blushing, if he weren’t flushed and reddened from the thorough fucking Derek just gave him.

“You are my everything, Stiles,” Derek sighs, and he pulls Stiles up into his lap, turning to slip off the bed.

“Holy heck, what’s happening?” Stiles mumbles, clinging to Derek with barely-there strength.

“Shower… cold shower. You need rest, and I… I’m unstable,” Derek says, and he holds Stiles up easily with one arm while he leans into the shower and turns on the water.

“Not too cold,” Stiles whines. “I’m sensitive.”

Derek kisses his temple. “Wanna fuck you again right here on the bathroom floor.”

Stiles squeaks, and Derek steps into the shower, shielding Stiles from the cool water with his back. Stiles goes limp in Derek’s arms, barely holding on, trusting Derek to hold his weight. And Derek does, until his knot shrinks down and his cock slips out of Stiles. Derek leans against the shower wall, holding Stiles against him, kissing everywhere he can reach until he feels less like tearing out of his skin with his desire.

By then they’re both soaked, and Stiles is barely coherent with exhaustion.

“You need sleep,” Derek says, raking a hand through his wet hair.

“I need to take care of you,” Stiles says, and then promptly yawns.

Derek laughs, shutting off the water. He wraps Stiles in the same towels from earlier and dries him off, rubbing him up and down like a drowsy kitten.

Stiles huddles into one of the towels while Derek half-asses drying himself, and then he scoops Stiles up bridal-style and takes him back to the room. He slides a pair of pajama pants onto Stiles and then climbs into bed beside him naked, still warmed from the fever despite the shower.

He’s at the finish line, just about over the worst of the rut, and Stiles is falling asleep in his arms muttering about Derek’s fever.

Even though he’s hungry, even though the wolf is anxious behind his ribs, Derek buries his face in Stiles’ chest and lets himself slip in and out of a restless slumbering state.

He knows soon he’ll wake up, and he’ll need Stiles’ mark in his skin before the rut ends. But he doesn’t know how long the wolf will wait.



Stiles is dizzy and warm as he crawls up through sleep. He wakes to a tongue lapping at his throat and hands claiming his hips, Derek’s body burning up behind him.

“Stiles, up… Please, up. Wake up,” Derek is panting, claws dragging over Stiles’ skin as he rolls him over, onto his side.

A broken sigh slips from Stiles’ lips, and he blinks himself into awareness as Derek tugs at him helplessly.

“Derek? You okay, hon?” Stiles murmurs, rolling completely over, setting a leg over Derek’s hips, his hands on Derek’s face. He hasn’t shifted, but he’s shaking, hard, and when he kisses Stiles, it’s like he’s trying very hard to focus on his lips, on breathing steady and deep. “Derek. Der, look at me, c’mere,” Stiles says, and he tilts Derek’s face up and leans back, looking at his face.

Derek’s eyes are burning deep red, and his cheeks are flushed, forehead damp.

“Jesus, Der, it’s alright. I’m right here, I’ve got you,” Stiles says quickly, and he kisses Derek and lays him back against the bed. Derek growls and whines when Stiles pulls away to kick off his borrowed pajama pants, and he catches sight of the moon glowing out the window, not full, but so bright. “Wow, how romantic.”

Stiles ,” Derek sighs, lids drooping.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” Stiles says again, and he pushes the blankets back and straddles Derek’s thighs. He reaches behind himself and sinks two fingers into his hole, shuddering. He’s wet and messy from lube and Derek’s cum, and he scissors his fingers quickly, twisting as best as he can to loosen himself up. At the same time, he strokes his cock, finding it’s surprisingly easy to go from half-awake-and-soft to over-eager-and-hard when Derek’s abdomen is quivering between his thighs.

If Stiles thought popping boners was easy and troublesome before, he knows he’s going to have a tough time after this is over. God forbid Derek say something or look at Stiles in a particular way around the pack. Stiles can already see his mind derailing into the gutter and oh, there he is, boner city.

Derek blinks up at him, eyes bleary, and his mouth falls open. He grabs Stiles’ wrist gently, desperately, and squeezes. Stiles’ rhythm stutters. “Beautiful,” Derek says.

And Stiles is. He’s so, so beautiful, pale and freckled with the fading moonlight painting across his shoulders and chest, his hair an absolute mess. His amber eyes sparkle, mouth falling open as he laughs. “You need to stop that,” he says, heartbeat kicking up. Slipping his fingers free, Stiles scoots forward and grabs Derek’s cock, stroking slowly, spreading the slick leaking from the tip. Stiles licks his lips, bracing one hand on Derek’s chest, using the other to guide his cock to his entrance.

Derek bucks up, gently, and the head slips in.

Stiles moans. “Easy,” he says, gently, and then sinks down on Derek’s cock. Stiles shudders, stomach lighting up with sparks, and he presses both hands to Derek’s chest and exhales slowly.

Derek releases his wrist in favor of setting his hands on Stiles’ waist, pulling him down for a kiss. It’s open mouthed, Derek panting, eyes squeezed shut, and Stiles starts rolling his hips very slowly.

He feels the effort in his stomach, the tightening of muscles and the trembling of their release, but Derek keeps making these soft, pained sounds, and they’re music in Stiles’ ears. He kisses Derek’s jaw and throat, and keeps riding him slowly, every motion setting a nerve alight inside of Stiles’ body. His fingers are steady as he dances them lightly over Derek’s chest, one of them drifting down Derek’s forearm to his wrist.

Derek’s hands on Stiles’ waist tighten, and he tips his head back against the pillows and groans.

“Can you talk yet?” Stiles says, and Derek opens his ruby eyes, looking up at the ceiling. He pants, open mouthed, and his fangs gleam in the light of the moon.

Derek nods. “Ba… barely. Hard to—t’ think.” He rubs his thumbs in circles over Stiles’ ribs, whimpering. “Hot. Feel so… you feel good.”

Stiles brushes his fingers over Derek’s cheek, sitting up on his haunches. Derek’s cock shifts inside him, drawing a gasp and moan from both of them, and Stiles starts rocking just a bit harder, faster. “Okay, alpha. It’s alright. I’m gonna take care of you. Fever’s almost over, I promise.”

My Stiles…

“Right here, Derek,” Stiles says, and he rolls his shoulders back and starts bouncing slowly on Derek’s cock.

It feels so fucking good, being so full, knowing he’s taking care of Derek. Stiles has to grip the base of his cock after the first few minutes, because the teasing rub of Derek’s cockhead on his prostate every downstroke is too much.

The heat of pleasure and the ache of tired muscles bleeds into one intense, prolonged feeling, and Stiles closes his eyes and focuses his efforts on staying sane through the final stretch, to survive to the end of Derek’s rut. The flesh is weak but the spirit is willing, or whatever.

Derek’s fever has to break, and soon.

“Stiles… I think I’m dying,” Derek says, breathless, expression thoughtful as he looks up at the ceiling.

Stiles giggles.

“Are you… laughing?”

“You are just so fuckin’ cute,” Stiles says, and then Derek thrusts up into him, a pointed, rough motion that makes Stiles’ stomach twist and burn, his mouth falling open.

“I’m not cute. I’m… an alpha. Your alpha. So,” Derek growls, and Stiles keens when Derek holds his hips down, grinding them together.

Stiles yelps when Derek rolls them over, pressing Stiles to the mattress beneath him, kissing Stiles soundly. This time, Derek’s tongue searches Stiles’ mouth hungrily. And he breathes loudly through his nose. When they part, Stiles drags in a lungful of air and moans. “Wow, you remembered how to kiss.”

“I’ll admit I was out of… out of it, but I didn’t forget how to kiss you. Not mentally anyway. The physical aspect of it was harder,” Derek says, rolling his body in a sinful motion that has Stiles’ brain going static.

“Derek… Derek ,” Stiles moans, scraping his nails down Derek’s back, fisting a hand in his sweat-tousled hair.

“You’ve been so good for me, Stiles. Hung on for so long. Just a little more, baby, please. Please,” Derek murmurs against his neck, and Stiles experiences a full-body shudder.

“Praising my stamina?” Stiles tries to joke, but Derek is fucking him steady and deep now, nearly pulling all the way out before he thrusts back in to the hilt over and over again.

“I am,” Derek says, and then he growls, like English has become too difficult.

Stiles’ arms drop tiredly over his head, the action baring his body before Derek’s gaze, stretched out for Derek’s viewing pleasure.

And, oh, it is pleasure itself watching Stiles come undone like this. The flush on his skin, his plush, bitten mouth open and gasping such sweet sounds, long fingers gripping at the sheets. Everything about him is art, lithe muscle and fine skin, eyes honey and chocolate. And fuck, fuck , he smells so good. He’s so beautiful, and he’s all Derek’s, and Derek wants him closer, impossibly closer.

Derek hooks his hands under Stiles’ ass and lifts him up, sitting back and taking Stiles with him.

Stiles shifts easily, arms around Derek’s neck, legs still around Derek’s waist as the change in position pushes Derek’s dick up into him deeper. Moaning, Stiles rides Derek with perfect rolls of his hips as Derek thrusts up. “You know, for a wolf, you sure like me riding you,” Stiles teases. “I thought for sure I’d be on my hands and knees with my ass up the majority of our fucking.”

Grinning, Derek licks Stiles’ jaw. “I love seeing your face. The expressions you make, when I do something you really like, when it feels good. You’re so beautiful, Stiles.”

Stiles blushes, turning away and pushing his face against Derek’s shoulder. “How about no?”

“You are,” Derek growls, punctuating it with a hard thrust. “My gorgeous mate.”

Stiles holds onto Derek firmly then, moaning and sighing every time Derek’s hips rise up to meet him. They move in tandem, as one whole, their rhythm unfaltering. When Derek rises, Stiles falls, and they kiss breathlessly, desperately, hands seeking and nails scratching.

Minutes bleed away in the moonlight, until Derek and Stiles are both sweating and shaking in each other’s arms.

Derek hits a sweet spot, his fingers pressing to the small of Stiles’ back, urging him forward, and Stiles keens brokenly, head tilting back, throat bared. Derek growls, kissing the exposed flesh, scraping his teeth over the marks he has already left there.

Stiles rocks his hips down, nails digging into Derek’s biceps.

“Stiles,” Derek gasps, drawing Stiles’ gaze down from the ceiling to his face. Derek’s eyes burn red, his hands bruising Stiles’ hips as he holds him down and ruts his hips up under him. “Stiles, I'm ready.”

Stiles’ mouth falls open, and he scratches marks into Derek’s skin that fade instantly.

Bite ,” Derek says, tilting his head to the side, baring the right side of his throat.

A strangled sound escapes Stiles’ throat, his walls clenching up around Derek like he’s about to come. But he doesn’t. He just curls forward, hugging Derek so tightly his muscles tremble, his mouth brushing over the spot where Derek wants his teeth, where he needs Stiles to mark him as his.

“Derek,” Stiles moans, wrecked.

Derek runs his hands up Stiles’ back, still rocking his hips up, holding that steady pace so that Stiles is still wrapped in the fog of his pleasure. “C’mon, baby. Come on,” Derek groans, and his wolf sparks up under the surface when Stiles’ teeth scrape over the side of his throat, down over the tight corded muscle of his shoulder.

Stiles’ breath is hot and wet as he pants open-mouthed against the spot. “My teeth aren’t sharp.”

“Bite hard,” Derek says.

“It’ll hurt you,” Stiles whispers, and he stifles a moan in Derek’s throat as Derek grinds up into him.

“I promise it’ll be okay, baby. It won’t hurt; it’ll feel good. So good.” Derek groans at the thought, snarling as he laps his tongue over Stiles’ own mark. He brings his hands back down to Stiles’ hips and stills him, holding Stiles down against him while pushing himself up, so deep it forces a cry from Stiles’ lips. “Please, Stiles. Please,” Derek whines, and he doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice.

Stiles cock smears a streak across Derek’s abs, and he sits back just a bit, resting their foreheads together.

He meets Derek’s eyes, still glowing vivid ruby red, and his mouth hangs open as Derek fucks him slower, harder.

Bite, ” Derek says again, and it sounds more wolf than human.

It’s enough to make Stiles dizzy, and the heat and pressure in his stomach spirals out of control. He drops his head back down onto Derek’s shoulder, licking the sweat from his skin, tangling a hand into Derek’s thick black hair and tugging hard .

Derek makes a choked sound, baring his throat further, dick pulsing inside of Stiles. “ Yes ,” he hisses, and Stiles nips at his throat, down to the juncture of his shoulder. He lets Derek fuck him easily, focuses on the feel of each thrust shooting pleasure up his spine, electrifying his nerves.

He kisses the muscle at the spot where Derek’s shoulder meets the curve of his neck, then opens his mouth wide.

His teeth scrape the flesh, slipping on the smooth space, before his canines latch into the muscle.

Derek bucks up underneath him, and Stiles bites down on the motion, steadying himself.

Whining, keening, Derek writhes beneath him, and Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and clamps his teeth down. There’s a split second of resistance, and then his blunt, human teeth are tearing through Derek’s tender flesh.

Derek jerks against him, hard, a word like fuck or Stiles or both bursting from his throat.

Stiles holds him close, a hand fisted in his hair, another biting marks into his back, and he moans against the rush of hot copper across his tongue.

There's magic in Derek’s blood, and Stiles feels it in his bones, in his heart. That magic makes his shoulder ache, makes something inside him split open and bleed for Derek, taking part of Derek and giving that piece up to him.

Mating bond, Stiles thinks. This is what it means to be bound to a wolf, to own that kind of wildness and power. He and Derek are linked, and it's loud in Stiles’ head and he's dizzy and burning up, every nerve a live wire. Derek is like a storm caged in his arms, every inch of him suddenly belonging to Stiles the way Stiles has belonged to him since those fangs broke skin.

Since he first laid eyes on me I was his, Stiles thinks, and he whimpers against Derek’s shoulder.

But Derek is holding fast to him, shaking, whining, and Stiles knows his mate feels this too.

To a much stronger degree, Derek feels the bond take shape and hold. He feels part of himself become part of Stiles, feels the shift in his blood as Stiles’ teeth burn a mark that will become a scar into his flesh.

Derek says Stiles’ name, sees the moon when he closes his eyes, and knows. He has claimed and been claimed. Derek's wolf is a storm inside him, and Derek knows, were Stiles not still holding him so close, so tight, Derek would have taken the shift and torn through the forest howling with delight and madness.

Stiles is still in the middle of his own crisis. The taste of Derek on his tongue, the feel of him shaking apart beneath him, gives Stiles a surge of power. The feeling of being able to dominate Derek in such a way has a power trip rushing into his head, and Stiles holds the bite in Derek’s skin. He rolls his hips, holding Derek still with claws and teeth and fuck , Stiles is getting dizzy. He growls.

Derek is whining, moaning out Stiles’ name in a loop, wrapping one arm around him tight and fierce. His other hand is flexing on Stiles’ hip, and he can feel the claws threatening to dig into his ass.

Stiles thinks he probably wouldn’t mind that, honestly.

His hole flutters around Derek’s cock, thick and hard and feeling bigger than ever, and then his knot starts to swell.

At that, Stiles finally has to pull off the bite, moaning and crying out as his rocking hips stutter in their rhythm. “Derek,” he groans, laving his tongue over the crescent of his top teeth, the smaller cuts from his bottom.

Derek’s blood tastes like spice and forest and fire , and Stiles keeps licking it up and grazing his teeth over the marks until they burn red and Derek is crying and shaking furiously beneath him.

“Mine. My Derek,” Stiles pants, wrapping his arms around Derek tightly, pressing wet, blood-flavored kisses to Derek’s sweaty temple.

Derek snarls, hardly sounding ferocious, and he wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist, hands locked around his own forearms, and he starts fucking up into Stiles in earnest.

Stiles feels drunk and dizzy and lit up from the inside out, his own shoulder aching, like he can feel Derek’s bite again for the first time as his knot swells larger inside him.

It catches Stiles’ prostate and he tips his head back on a breathless sound, a break between a laugh and a moan.

“Stiles… Stiles, your eyes,” Derek says, and Stiles blinks at him, still smiling. Derek grins, and Stiles shudders at the sight of his fangs. “They’re glowing .”

Stiles smiles even wider, tangling his fingers into Derek’s hair. “What color?”

“Red. Golden red… My mate, my gorgeous mate,” Derek says, and god, Stiles is a sight. “My whole life.”

There’s blood on his smirking lips, and his eyes are bright-cut amber and garnet, and Derek surges forward and kisses him roughly with tongue and teeth. Stiles pulls back what feels like hours later, gasping, fingers trembling on Derek’s shoulders.

Derek licks up the column of his throat, and Stiles can feel the edge of his fangs, feels Derek’s skin humming beneath his hands like a shift is right beneath the surface.

“I love you,” Stiles sighs to the ceiling, dropping his head back down to press his forehead firmly to Derek’s. The ridge of his brow is harder, his nose sharp, and Stiles brushes one hand down the curve of Derek’s prominent cheekbone. He kisses across Derek’s face, moaning and sighing as his prostate is abused and his dick keeps dripping a steady flow of clear fluid from the tip. “I love you, Derek,” Stiles says again, and he can feel Derek’s face soften under his lips.


“Are you gonna come inside me, Derek?” Stiles whispers, eyes heavy-lidded as pleasure spears him through the gut over and over with each nudge and rock of Derek’s strong hips beneath him. His thighs burn and his calves ache, his back starting to hurt from the way his spine is curved over Derek like a wave. But it feels so good. Stiles loves it so fucking much.

At his question, Derek snarls, releasing Stiles to run a hand up his ribs, over his shoulder.

“Come on, Derek. Give it to me; fill me up, alpha,” Stiles gasps, and he rakes his nails over Derek’s scalp, over his shoulder and bicep. “Come for me. Come inside your mate. One more time.”

Derek stiffens, tensing, and Stiles bucks up into his fist when he wraps his hand around his cock.

Not without you ,” Derek snarls, and then he’s kissing Stiles with fang and tongue, fucking his hand over Stiles’ fist with enthusiasm as he rolls his hips and drags the knot deep in Stiles’ wet heat. “Come. Come, Stiles--one more time.”

Whatever dominance he thought he had over Derek evaporates immediately, and Stiles is shuddering, trembling, and then coming apart in Derek’s arms with a brittle cry, tearing his mouth from Derek’s to shout at the ceiling.

He paints Derek’s chest with slick ropes of cum, feels it drip over Derek’s knuckles and slick his fist, whimpering and sighing and moaning Derek’s name as the pressure inside him snaps and snaps over and over again like violent waves.

Derek growls, burying his face into Stiles’ chest to stifle the desperate sound, and then he’s coming, fucking up into Stiles as deep as he can while his cock spurts thick and hot inside his mate.

Stiles shivers, moaning as Derek keeps rocking under him gently, keeps stroking his fist over Stiles’ cock despite the fact he’s already come undone.

Derek rolls them over, gently, and lies down over Stiles, pulling him close along his body, kissing and licking his throat and jaw.

“Mine. Mine, mine, my mate,” Derek mutters, breath slowing as he crushes Stiles against his chest.

“Derek… fuck, ” Stiles wheezes, throat dry. His eyes can't focus, can barely open, and he's so strung out he's unable to keep holding onto Derek the way he wants to.

Derek growls, pressing in roughly against Stiles, the lack of arms around his shoulders irritating him sufficiently.

Stiles feels static under his skin, and Derek’s scent is like rain and forest and musk. It has a taste on Stiles’ tongue, when he pants open mouthed, coming down from the high. The pulse behind Derek's ribs is steady, pressed to Stiles’ own chest by Derek’s weight carefully laid over him. The world feels shifted, and the moon coming through the window is whiter than before, Stiles is sure.

“Is this the bond? We’re at the rut extravaganza finish line?”

Derek grins, humming thoughtfully as he thumbs Stiles’ nipple teasingly. “It’s just you,” Derek sighs. “And also… fever. It's so hot, Stiles. Can you feel it?”

“You mean the totally amazing bond magic completely destroying me from the inside? Yeah. I feel you,” Stiles gasps.

“Stiles, I can't tell you… there aren't words for how good this feels,” Derek says, pressing his face into Stiles’ neck.

“I'm here, love. I've got you,” Stiles replies, combing his fingers through Derek's sweaty hair. “It's okay. It's okay, Derek.” Derek whimpers, and Stiles can feel him shudder in his arms. “I… thank you, Derek.”

There's a deep, content growl in Derek's chest, and then he kisses Stiles’ cheek. “You’re my everything, Stiles…”

Stiles blushes, turning his face into his own shoulder. “Wow, that’s… that’s never not gonna be cheesy.”

“You love cheese,” Derek says, leaning forward to nuzzle Stiles’ face, scenting him.

“Well, you’re right about that.” Stiles nuzzles back, grumbling, and Derek’s wolf appreciates how Stiles can fabricate wolf mannerisms and behavior.

“You’re so weird,” Derek says, licking Stiles’ cheek. “You and your Discovery channel.”

Stiles laughs, lifting a hand to cover his face. “You have no idea how I’ve studied for this. I am trained, Derek,” he says.

Derek arches a brow, running a hand down Stiles’ chest. “I’m sure I could teach you a few things, pup,” Derek promises heatedly, and Stiles swoons, tilting his head to the side as he arches up under his mate.

“Just cause you’re old. You’ve seen more of the world,” Stiles teases, which earns him a light nip of Derek’s teeth on his jaw.

“I’m so tired,” Stiles murmurs, sighing as he stretches and sprawls, Derek holding him close as he wriggles. “Nothing like a good dicking to wear you out.”

“How exactly would you know?” Derek says snidely.

“Because, I’ve had plenty of dick.”

“You’ve had my dick,” Derek growls, thrusting into Stiles to get him gasping.

Yyyyyes, ” Stiles groans. “And it’s the most amazing dick. Magical werewolf dick that never stops giving. The best dick. Therefore, I’m not wrong.”

Derek kisses him quiet, lapping at Stiles’ sweet mouth until Stiles’ tongue grows lazy against his. He rolls them onto their sides, hiking Stiles’ leg up over his hip, pulling his mate against his chest. The angle is a little awkward with Derek’s knot still stuck inside Stiles, but the light pressure is intoxicating, almost soothing.

Stiles’ breathing evens out, softens, and Derek’s knot goes down, his cock sliding mostly out of Stiles’ lax hole while they drift between awareness and the lightest layer of sleep.


Stiles mumbles quietly, fingers dragging down Derek’s chest.

Derek kisses the top of his head. “I’m glad you came to check on me…”

A smiling kiss is pressed to Derek’s throat, and he wraps his arms tight around Stiles and exhales slowly. “Yeah… got forever to think about it. I’ve read wolves mate for life.”

Derek smiles. “I’ve heard that, too.”

Everything is moonlight and their breathing, slow, steady, whole.



Derek is pulled back into the land of the wakeful and aroused when he blinks his eyes open, his stomach hot and twisted with want. Stiles is rocking against his hard cock, letting it slide between the slippery, filthy crack between his supple ass cheeks.

Growling, Derek palms one hand down Stiles’ back, slipping a finger into the crease of his cheeks, teasing against his hole.

Stiles shudders, still humping his quickly filling cock against Derek’s abs while Derek plays with his hole. He uses two fingers to spread Stiles, feels the slick of half a dozen orgasms hot and wet dripping out of Stiles.

Derek growls, his cock gathering the spunk spilling out of Stiles, slicking his thighs and balls as Derek’s hips start rutting to match Stiles’.

The fever has left his body completely, Derek feels his rut has ended. His muscles feel bruised and his stomach is aching, but he has never, ever felt so content in his life.

“Good morning, love,” Derek growls, voice low and gravelly from sleep and snarling.

Stiles bumps his head up against Derek’s jaw. “Morning. Feel good?”

“Sore and incredible. And mated,” Derek says, and he kisses Stiles’ shoulder and brushes his hands down his back, rolling over on top of him. He growls, breathing in Stiles’ scent as he rolls lazily over him, dragging their bodies together.

“So… you wanna go again?” Stiles says, and Derek can feel him smiling against his collar bone.

Derek smiles back, digging his fingers into Stiles’ ass and shoulder. He sighs against Stiles’ hair, “My mate is perfect.”

And Stiles feels kind of perfect. Which is kind of great.