Work Header

You Can Learn a Lot of Things from the Flowers

Work Text:

By the time Stiles realizes something freaky is going on with Derek, the werewolf has Stiles shirtless and is making a go for his pants. Stiles grasps futilely at the spare moments between Derek’s questing fingers, trying to put whatever pieces he can together as he backs away from Derek, heels and palms digging into forest floor and dirt sticking to his back and jeans as he struggles away.

They’re at the preserve, looking for clues about yet more bullshit that’s gone topsy-turvy in Beacon Hills – and yes, Stiles is starting to get tired of the endless pile of supernatural crap that affects his life, so if he’s acting a little too blasé about the whole matter, he can’t really bring himself to care. Anyway, as near as Stiles can tell, Derek had been acting like his totally normal, uptight self until about ten seconds ago, when he’d tackled Stiles out of nowhere and forcibly removed Stiles’ top. Stiles can see the ragged tatters on the ground behind Derek, and he’s so making the werewolf replace that.

Derek’s already shirtless, having stripped his black tee off a minute ago, grumbling something about the heat. Which actually was a bit weird, since it’s 50 degrees out, but Stiles had just figured werewolves had more body heat or something. Derek certainly does, his body burning like a furnace when Stiles pushes against his naked skin.

Derek bears down on top of him, fingers tugging roughly at Stiles’ belt and green eyes glazed over.

“Hey, whoa. Derek, what are you doing?” Stiles asks, wrapping a hand around Derek’s wrist and trying to still the werewolf’s movements.

“Need you naked.” Derek explains unhelpfully.

“Naked…” Stiles echoes, eyes wide in confusion. “Why, exactly?”

“Not sure yet.” Derek mutters. Derek lets out a growl in frustration, glaring down at Stiles’ hips, and Stiles is half-amused and half-concerned that Derek Hale is being foiled by a belt. Stiles is pretty sure the claws are going to come out though, and given that it’s a new belt and also Stiles’ only belt, Stiles hastens to fix the situation.

“Let me.” Stiles says, reaching down to unfasten the clasp and pull the band free. There’s a clink as it comes loose and then Derek’s tearing at the waist of Stiles’ jeans, pulling roughly on the material and sending the top button flying as the zip rips apart, guaranteeing that the fly will not work again anytime soon. Derek yanks at the waistband of Stiles’ pants, pulling them further and further down and whining when they catch at Stiles’ shoes.

Stiles grumbles, shivering and self-conscious now that his torso and legs are exposed, and toes of his shoes, biting his lips when he feels his jeans slip past his ankles then down over the tops of his feet. He lets out an incredulous “Seriously?!” when Derek yanks his socks off too.

“Naked. Need you naked.” Derek chants and Stiles is still wearing his briefs, so he can guess where this is going next.

Before his underwear can meet the same fate as his jeans and shirt, Stiles slips his fingers over the top, summons up his courage, and starts stripping out of them. It’s hard when he’s on his back and Derek doesn’t seem keen on giving Stiles’ a lot of wiggle room, but Stiles manages to get them down to his thighs, unmasking his groin and his ass to the open air. Derek lets out a whine, staring unnervingly at Stiles’ flaccid dick like it’s the greatest thing in the world, and Stiles can only furrow his brows and wonder what the fuck is wrong with the werewolf.

“Whoa!” Stiles cries out in shock when Derek lunges forward, pressing his nose into Stiles’ nether regions. “Dude, what are you-”

“Shut up.” Derek hums, sniffing in deeply.

Stiles’ feels a tug at the elastic around his thighs when Derek pulls at Stiles’ underwear, encouraging him to keep stripping. Stiles has to do an awkward semi Sit-Up to get them around his knees, the position affording him a full view of Derek nuzzling his privates.

“Oh god.” Stiles says weakly.

Stiles isn’t unaware that Derek’s gorgeous. He isn’t unaware that all of the people he’s surrounded himself with are totally, drop-dead beautiful, but there’s a world of difference between acknowledging that someone’s attractive and seeing them lovingly burrowing into your genitalia. And right now Derek – fricking Derek Hale - is all about Stiles’ junk.

Seeing it makes Stiles’ feel it - the gentle stroke of Derek’s nose and the heat of his labored breathing - and Stiles clenches his teeth, focusing on getting his underwear off and maybe also finding a solution to whatever the fuck is going on. He has more success on the former, arching awkwardly over Derek’s head as he slips his briefs down to his ankles and then kicks them off.

“Right, so I’m naked now,” Stiles starts. “What do you- Oh my god!” Stiles cries out in shock when Derek licks Stiles’ penis. It’s still flaccid, but that probably won’t last long if Derek does that again because it feels amazing.

Derek reaches his hands up, pressing them against Stiles’ torso and pushing Stiles back down onto the ground. “Stay.” Derek orders, and Stiles can’t see his face to gauge his expression, but even though the tone isn’t stern, Stiles thinks it could easily get there if he disobeys.

Stiles stares up at the tree tops and wonders if he maybe should’ve called for help at some point. That thought flies out of his head when Derek licks him again, and he shudders, lips falling open on a gasp. Derek keeps one hand firmly planted on Stiles’ abdomen, holding him down, and moves the other hand to clutch at his thigh, pushing it to open up his legs and give Derek more access. Derek’s fingers squeeze around the inner muscle of his leg and Stiles’ stomach flips, toes curling at the warm, intimate gesture.

Stiles is rocked with pleasure when Derek’s tongue swipes over his testicles and then Derek’s moving upwards again, caressing over his slit and working down to massage the underside of his cock. Stiles’ eyes slip shut and his body hums with heat and energy. He feels soft tresses between his fingers and realizes he’s worked his hand into Derek’s hair. There’s sweat wetting the locks and Stiles is still thinking clear enough to manipulate his hand down to Derek’s forehead, feeling the skin on the back of his palm as best he can when Derek’s still mouthing at his cock. Derek’s burning up, dangerously so.

Derek sucks the tip of Stiles’ member into his mouth and Stiles lets out a wordless shout, body jolting and his other hand flying up to grasp at the one Derek has on his abdomen.

“D-d-derek.” Stiles stutters out when he gets his bearings enough to talk. Derek’s still sucking and licking and Stiles can’t think straight, but Derek’s too hot, way too hot, and there’s something seriously wrong with him. The fact that he’s giving Stiles a blowjob is evidence of that.

“I think you’re sick.” Stiles manages to say. “You have – fuck!”

Derek swirls his tongue over the head of Stiles’ dick and slurps at the same time, and Stiles does a full body spasm, heart hammering in his chest and breath catching in his throat.

“Derek.” Stiles whines, because the werewolf is not making this easy. Stiles is almost fully erect now and he’s having trouble putting his thoughts together, only coming up with fleeting words and half-formed sentences. The only thing that does stick with him is the steady insistence that this is wrong. “Derek!” He repeats, trying to get the werewolf’s attention.

Derek takes Stiles’ length into his mouth, swallowing him all the way to the base, and Stiles moans.

“Derek, stop!” Stiles shouts, voice tinged in desperation.

Derek pops off of him with a whimper and Stiles lets out a relieved sigh, even when his dick twitches in disappointment.

“What?” Derek bites out, voice hoarse.

Stiles looks down at him and groans, because Derek’s lips are bruised and bright red and he looks absolutely, disgustingly lurid. “Derek, you’re sick. You have a fever.” He explains. “You have clearly gone off the deep end and you need help.”

“I need you.” Derek says, sliding his hand up to stroke his thumb gently along the underside of Stiles’ cock.

Stiles grits his teeth. “That doesn’t even make sense.” He grouses. “We need to get you out of here and to Deaton or Scott or I don’t know.”

Derek pulls away and Stiles is relieved until he sees Derek stripping out of his pants. ‘Stripping’ is perhaps a generous term for it – Derek’s pants receive the same treatment that Stiles’ had, ripping and tearing as Derek hastily works his way out of them.

Stiles starts retreating, crawling across the forest floor, and Derek watches him, chest rising and falling and nostrils flaring as Derek exposes his flesh. Stiles is still hard and the sight of Derek’s naked form coming into view as he tears his jeans and underwear off and roughly yanks himself free from his footwear is oddly enticing.

“Derek, you need help.” Stiles says, swallowing thickly when Derek’s completely naked.

Derek ignores the sense in Stiles’ words, instead making his way over to Stiles and crawling up his body, moving to straddle him. Derek’s ass rubs teasingly against the tip of his erection and Derek leans in close, face morphing into a Serious Derek expression.

“I need you,” Derek says, rolling his hips back against Stiles’ dick, “To fuck me.”

Stiles stares up at him with wide eyes, trying to process that. “You need me to…” He can’t even bring himself to say it and he reaches up, clutching at Derek’s hips and trying to get him to hold still. “Just, hold on. Wait.”

Derek grabs Stiles’ wrists and pins them back by his head, glaring down at him and pressing back even further, so that Stiles’ erection comes up between Derek’s ass cheeks. Stiles’ heart leaps wildly in his chest as Derek stares directly into his eyes and grinds backwards, teasing his entrance across the head of Stiles’ cock. The brush of Derek’s member against Stiles’ belly and the delightful press of Derek’s backside almost distracts him from the disconcerting discovery that Derek’s entrance is slick.

There’s a wet, sticky substance leaking out of Derek’s backside and it feels suspiciously like lube.

“What is that?” Stiles asks.

“Don’t know.” Derek gasps, seeming to get lost in the roll of his hips. “It’s been like that for…uhn…for an hour.”

Stiles takes a minute to process that because Derek sounds seriously hot at the moment and Stiles’ dick is begging to be inside of him.

“Derek, how long have you-” Stiles breaks off, breath hitching, because Derek’s getting seriously impatient and he’s starting to seek out Stiles’ tip, pressing down like he could get Stiles into him that way. Derek’s hole actually starts to give on one solid push and Stiles lets out a strangled moan, hips jolting.

“Cave. Flowers.” Derek pants.

The cave with the flowers happened about an hour ago. Derek had fallen into a bed of bizarre, pink flora and gotten some pollen sprayed all over him. Stiles is starting to think they should have given that more consideration.

As it is, Stiles can’t give much consideration to anything when Derek starts bearing down on him and he can feel Derek’s entrance embracing him, pulling him inwards.

“Oh. Oh god, Derek!” Stiles says, arching up into it. His hips jolt up to meet the squeezing, moist heat and Derek howls as Stiles is buried inside. Derek comes immediately, sounding totally wrecked and sending warm liquid splashing across Stiles’ chest. Stiles looks up in surprise and Derek’s face is completely blissed out, mouth open, eyes closed and a flush of pure pleasure written across his features.

Stiles barely has time to adjust to any of it before Derek’s fingers move to lace with Stiles', holding him down in the dirt as Derek starts riding him. There’s nothing gentle about it, nothing intimate or romantic and no regard for Stiles, who’s had essentially no sexual experience up until this point. What it comes down to is the rough pull and drag of Derek’s heat along Stiles’ hardness as Derek fucks himself open on Stiles’ cock.

Derek moves quick and dirty, pornographic sounds slipping past his lips and setting Stiles ablaze. The noises Stiles makes are less becoming, and he flushes in embarrassment as much as arousal when he lets out helpless moans and high-pitched whimpers. His breath’s ragged too, almost like he’s having a panic attack, and each reach for oxygen catches in between syllables of pleasure, forming a bizarre, unattractive mix that he tries to stifle.

When Stiles bites his lip to save himself some dignity, Derek leans forward, licking and nipping along his bottom lip until Stiles gasps and releases it. He groans, forcing his eyes open enough to see Derek staring down at him, face inches away.

Stiles wets his mouth and Derek’s eyes track the movement. Stiles lets out a moan that sounds suspiciously like “Derek” and Derek dives at him, slamming their lips together and sending Stiles’ world careening off its axis. Stiles pants and whines into Derek’s mouth and Derek eats it up, licking eagerly and swallowing each noise like his life depends on it, and Stiles leans up into it, feeding sounds of desire into Derek’s mouth and clenching his fingers where they’re threaded with Derek’s.

Derek rocks onto him faster and harder and Stiles’ head drops back, digging into forest floor as his neck arches and his back bows. Derek goes with the motion, moving down to nip at Stiles’ Adam’s apple. Saliva drips down Stiles’ skin where Derek groans into his throat, like Derek’s so far gone he can’t even swallow properly, and Stiles shudders, twitching his hips into Derek’s thrusts.

They’re both sweating with effort, slick skin sliding against each other, and Stiles feels fire break out at each point of contact. Fragile nerves burn easily with each thrust and Stiles’ chest explodes on every exhale, melting him apart under Derek and stripping his world down to murky pleasure and fierce desperation. When Derek presses an open kiss to his lips, Stiles responds immediately, like it’s an old habit between them, like it’s his place to be kissed by Derek and to kiss him in return. Stiles loses himself in it, loses himself in Derek and falls apart under him like he was always meant to.

Derek squeezes around Stiles, punching a breathless whine from his throat. Stiles’ toes dig into the dirt and his fingers clench around Derek’s, Derek’s hands a grounding force that he tries to focus on as he arches his feet and leverages up into Derek’s hole. Stiles feels dizzy and intoxicated, high off Derek’s heat, and he’s not sure if sex is just this amazing or if there’s something more at work here, but he wants to stay inside Derek forever, getting claimed and claiming in return.

Derek shifts, pulling his fingers out of Stiles’ grip and pressing his hands into his chest, using it to anchor himself and fuck himself onto Stiles in deeper, more powerful movements. Stiles lets out a shout at the angle change, cock getting impaled into a tighter passage, and his fingers move to clench into Derek’s thighs.

“God, Derek…unnh!”

Derek’s hands are heavy on top of him, rough and calloused and still far too warm as they weigh down on his torso, putting strain onto already barren lungs, but Stiles can’t bring himself to protest. He thinks he might suffocate, thinks he might stop trying to breathe altogether, but he doesn’t really mind, not when Derek’s slamming himself desperately onto Stiles’ cock and moaning like it’s the best thing in the world.

“Stiles.” Derek groans and Stiles files that sound away for later, because he’s heard Derek’s voice do a lot of things, but the way it pitches in pleasure, sometimes soft and sometimes husky but always strained, always with a note of pleasant vulnerability as Derek breaks apart, is something special.

Stiles wonders if Derek trained for that and if he’d help Stiles at all, because Stiles gives his sounds away too easily, too strongly. He feels foolish every time his mouth opens on a truly embarrassing whimper, which it seems to do at the smallest of touches, and it’s only gaining frequency now that he’s so close.

Hot droplets fall onto Stiles’ abs with each of Derek’s thrusts and Stiles looks down to see Derek’s cock, angry and red, leaking a steady line of precum. Stiles licks his lips, working his hand up and unsteadily wrapping it around Derek’s member. Derek’s big and heavy in his palm, and Stiles’ stomach flips at the thought that he’s holding onto Derek Hale’s penis.

“Oooh.” Derek moans, head dropping to look down at Stiles grip and eyelids fluttering as Stiles starts stroking.

Stiles hasn’t actually done this before, but he figures confidence is key and Derek doesn’t seem too picky, so Stiles pushes the awkwardness aside and tries to do it like he does on himself. Derek seems to enjoy it, mouth open and hips stuttering, swaying between Stiles’ fist and Stiles’ dick.

“Come on, Stiles.” Derek urges, chanting under his breath and it takes a moment for Stiles to catch it. “Fuck, come on.”

Derek wants Stiles to come, seems to want it really badly actually, and Stiles’ heart pounds in his chest, body tensing at the realization. It’s simultaneously sexy and terrifying, and Stiles can feel himself beginning to spiral into a crisis, but it’s cut off when Derek pulls Stiles’ hand off his dick and moves it to his backside, pressing his fingers against Derek’s entrance so Stiles can feel himself going in and out of Derek.

“Feel that? Feel yourself inside me?” Derek pants out and it’s surreal hearing Derek talk like that. Derek slams down roughly on Stiles, quick and fast and so fucking dirty as he takes Stiles closer and closer to the edge. “Come on, fill me up. Need it.” Derek says and Stiles keens.

Derek impales himself mercilessly onto Stiles, trapping him in that intense, tight heat over and over again. It’s just this edge of painful as Stiles’ cock is over-stimulated and the pleasure gets to be far too much. Stiles can feel it too, just how much Derek’s hole twitches around him, and just how quickly Derek takes him in, insides moving around his cock easily. Stiles can also feel, with his fingers, the motion of his dick going into Derek’s ass, and Stiles’ mouth falls open on a soundless moan, his eyes falling shut as his world dissolves into that single point.

Derek’s hole is slick, coating Stiles’ fingers in that weird moisture, and Stiles feels himself come out just as wet, dick sloppy with whatever Derek’s secreting. He moans, arching up into it and feeling the wetness leak down his cock. Derek’s practically sobbing now, begging him to come, and Stiles almost doesn’t want to, wants this moment to drag out forever.

Derek won’t have any of it though. Derek squeezes around him, moaning his name like a pornstar and looking him directly in the eye when Stiles looks up at him. Derek presses down harder on his lungs and Stiles can’t breathe, knows he won’t be able to breathe again until he gives Derek what he wants and comes inside him. Stiles is powerless to withstand Derek and he falls over the edge, Derek fucking every drop of cum he can out of him as Stiles spills himself inside Derek’s heat. Derek comes when Stiles does, painting Stiles’ torso and scratching lines into his chest.

Stiles gasps and shakes in the aftermath and Derek collapses on top of him, unconscious. Stiles gives it a few minutes and then tries to shift, testing Derek’s weight. Derek’s too much and Stiles is still too unsteady, so he lays there, staring up at the tree tops overhead and hoping to whatever power that be that Scott isn’t the one to find them.