Stiles spots the innocuous brown box the minute he's through the door. It's just sitting there on the end of the kitchen counter, on top of the pile of takeout menus Derek is oddly precious about not throwing away. Stiles doesn't understand why; they only ever order from two takeout places, neither of which have menus in that pile. He has a sneaking suspicion that Derek won’t throw out the takeout menus because he might need them one day and he hates not being prepared.
He also doesn't understand why someone would get a package in the mail and not open it immediately. He tilts the box to peer at the label while Derek's back is turned, just on the off chance it's for him. To his disappointment, it's addressed to 'D W Hale'. Damn. Even more disappointingly, there's no company name on the package or anything else that might give away what's inside it.
"Nothing," Derek replies shortly as he passes Stiles a mug of coffee and loops his free arm around his waist, pulling him close and pressing a kiss against the side of his jaw. "Come on."
He leads Stiles out of the kitchen and back into the lounge, dropping down onto the couch.
"Seriously. What is it?"
"Nothing," Derek says again, catching hold of Stiles' shirt and tugging at it until he sits down beside him. From his end of the couch, he can still see the box in the kitchen. At least there is if he kind of leans his way up the arm of the couch and backwards.
"Well clearly it's not nothing," he grouses. "What have you been buying?"
Derek, because he's an ass, continues to maintain that the box is nothing and that Stiles should just forgot about it so he decides to switch out his tactics, downing the last of his coffee before moving to straddle Derek's lap.
"What's in the box?" He asks again as he walks his fingers down Derek's chest and starts to roll up his tank top. Besides the ultimate option of absolutely nothing at all, tank tops are his favorite thing to see Derek wearing; Derek's shoulders might just be one of his biggest weaknesses.
"Nothing," Derek insists. He lifts his arms above his head so Stiles can pull the shirt off him and makes this stupid little noise at Stiles, this odd little desperate whimper that never fails to make Stiles' heart skip a beat and his cock twitch in anticipation. It's a little whimper that always leads to good things.
"I'll find out eventually you know," He adds as he grinds down against Derek's hardening cock, rocking back and forth in his lap like his life depends on it.
"Wouldn't be you if you didn't."
Stiles scowls for a moment before going back to the more important task at hand; awkwardly dry humping Derek like he's a sixteen year old virgin again. After a couple more minutes, in which his jeans continue to get more and more uncomfortably tight, he gives up and yanks them off in a hurry. He should probably be a little more embarrassed that he's kind of a slob and his boxers are missing both of the stupid little buttons off the fly. Because that means that when he stands back up after untangling his foot from his pants his half hard dick ends up jutting out through his fly, like it's getting it's 'hello world!' on.
He shoots Derek a sheepish grin, because he probably couldn't look more ridiculous right now. Only Derek clearly doesn't seem to think he looks ridiculous. No, Derek just licks his lips instead and swallows as he looks up at Stiles, like Stiles' escaping cock is the most alluring thing he's ever seen. He's never really understood exactly how or why Derek seems to find everything he does attractive. Especially at moments like this when Derek should really be kind of ashamed that his boyfriend can barely dress himself and, Stiles realizes with dawning horror when Derek's gaze flicks to his thigh, drew all over his own goddamn leg last night while he was on the phone to one of his college friends.
"C'mere," Derek sighs as he catches hold of Stiles' hips and pulls at him until he sits back down in his lap.
"You knew I was strange going into this," Stiles mutters when Derek starts tracing the blue lines on his leg. "So really, you've got no one to blame but yourself.
"Mm," Derek replies noncommittally. "What's that supposed to be?
"Uh, that would be a heart with your name in it," Stiles mumbles, feeling his cheeks heating up as he blushes.
"Why do you get to ask questions? You wouldn't answer my questions about your stupid secret package."
"Stop obsessing about the box," Derek tells him. "Why'd you draw that?"
"Because I love you, you shitheel. And I was talking to Hannah about you and my mind wandered. What's in the box?"
Derek kisses him by way of a reply, reaching up to tangle his hand into Stiles' hair as he licks into his mouth; Stiles is just about to pull away and ask again about the stupid mystery box when Derek suddenly slips his hand down between them and wraps his fingers around Stiles’ cock. Which, OK, the kiss might not have distracted him, but that certainly will. Especially when Derek then tugs down the waistband of his sweats and adds his own cock to the mix, scooting down a little so he can wrap his hand around both of them. Stiles sighs happily and covers Derek’s hand with his own; he loves this, loves the simplicity of it all. Loves the way it starts out a little dry, skin dragging against skin before rapidly turning slippery and slick because Derek always leaks pre-come like nobody’s business. It’s quick and dirty, and it takes Stiles hardly any time to come, biting own hard on Derek’s shoulder as he does.
He likes coming before Derek. Partly because it doesn’t happen all that often and partly because it means he’s actually able to focus and watch Derek come apart which is kind of a sight to behold. He bites at Derek’s shoulder again, hard enough to leave teeth marks against his skin before sitting back and grinning as Derek gasps out his name, thick streaks of come landing on his stomach and chest as he flops back against the couch.
“I still want to know,” Stiles says through a yawn as he watches Derek wipe his hand clean on his sweats. “Don’t think you can distract me with orgasms.”
It’s supposed to be a joke, but Derek actually gives him this stupid hangdog expression and he realizes he’s been played. Which just makes him all the more determined to find out exactly what it is Derek has bought.
- - -
They make a stir fry for dinner, which is all very nice and domesticated but which also means that Stiles is forced to spend more time in Derek’s kitchen side eyeing the box. He hates the box. The box is mocking him. And he’d quite happily trade his half of Derek’s amazing stir fry to find out what’s in the box.
“I bet there’s nothing in there really,” He muses out loud as he twirls his fork in his noodles. He’s not precious about using chopsticks with stir fry, unlike certain people who might be sitting right next to him. “I bet it’s just some dumb empty box that you put there to test me.”
Derek rolls his eyes and gets up from the breakfast bar, grabbing the box and disappearing into the lounge. Stiles takes advantage of his sudden absence to snag Derek’s shiitake mushrooms for himself.
“You ate my mushrooms.”
“You hid the box,” Stiles counters, slapping Derek’s hand when he snatches a shrimp away from under Stiles’ fork. “Dick.”
Derek shrugs, spearing another of Stiles’ shrimp with his chopsticks before turning his attention back to his own dinner. “I made it. That means I get to eat what I want from your plate.”
“You can have my snow peas then, just leave my shrimps alone.”
They somehow manage to bicker their way through dinner and the washing up without further incident, but at the back of Stiles’ mind the whole time is what the hell is in that stupid box and why won’t Derek just tell him?
- - -
Stiles huffs into the darkness and turns over again, frowning when he sees how peaceful Derek looks in his sleep. Which is completely unfair. Because Stiles can’t sleep. Not while that damn mystery box is still somewhere in the apartment. It’s infuriating and he’s never going to be able to sleep until he finds out what’s in the stupid thing.
"D," Stiles hisses quietly, poking Derek in the side.
Derek grunts into his pillow but doesn't otherwise doesn't respond.
"D," he says again, a little louder and more forcefully. When that gets no response, he starts poking Derek harder. "Der."
"Don't call me D," Derek mumbles into his pillow before turning his head and opening one eye to peer at Stiles as he flicks on the bedside lamp. "What do you want?"
"What's in that box?"
Derek groans loudly at that and buries his face in the pillow again. After a moment, he pushes himself up and out of bed, scowling at Stiles as he stalks out of the bedroom. Stiles waits for a moment, unsure whether he's supposed to be following. Before he can get out from under the cover, Derek's back and none too kindly hurling the box at him. "You're like a goddamn child sometimes."
Stiles smiles sweetly at him and turns the box over, picking at the packing tape as Derek climbs back into bed and curls into him, resting his head on Stiles' thigh. His bitten down nails are no match for the tape though and after a moment he pulls a sad face and holds the box out to Derek.
That earns him an overly dramatic eye roll but Derek still extends one claw and slices easily through the tape so Stiles can pull the box open. "This is why you shouldn't bite your nails," Derek smirks as he turns his head and presses a little kiss against Stiles' leg.
"But I've got you!" Stiles laughs. "I don't need fingernails. Like how I'll never need a can opener again. Or a letter opener. Or a pair of scissors. Or –" he trails off as he gets the box open and pulls out a blister packed – something.
It's a fucking dildo. A fucking bright blue dildo. (Nine inches and soft touch, the packaging proudly proclaims).
"You bought a dildo?" Stiles says flatly as he pushes Derek's head off his leg and moves away from him. "What, is my dick just not cutting it anymore?"
He's trying hard not to sound unreasonable, but honestly? Derek secretly buying himself a dildo is a pretty fucking low blow. It feels a hell of a lot like Derek's trying to tell him he needs something more - something, ugh, bigger than him. That's offensive.
"No," Derek replies, sounding wounded. "I thought we could, you know, use it together. When have I ever said you're not good enough? You're perfect." He blushes as he says that, dropping his gaze from Stiles' face to the dildo in his hand and then away to the window, like he's embarrassed. Like it was someone else who bought nine inches of bright blue, high grade silicone.
OK, so maybe he's blown things out of proportion just a little bit and he shuffles closer to Derek as he rips open the packaging and pulls the toy out, giving it an experimental shake. It's got a nice weight to it, looks (and feels) like it would feel pretty damn good when put to it's intended purpose. And given that nine times out of ten, he tops, at Derek's request, it'll be nice to have something in his ass for a change.
"What even made you think of this?" He asks Derek, pointing at him with the dildo. And because Derek's a massive dork, he actually looks embarrassed by that and pushes it away. "So you can buy a big fake dick on the internet but god forbid anyone makes you look at it?"
"You were shoving it in my face."
"And? You want to shove it in my ass. Your face is fair game."
"I deeply dislike you."
"Nuh-uh. Nuh-uh, no, you love me," Stiles informs him, waggling the dildo at him again. "I've been informed. By very reliable sources."
Derek's unimpressed expression goes soft and fond at that, his cheeks flushing pink as he nods. "Maybe I do. You started it though.”
He tilts his head back a little, so he's at the perfect angle for Stiles to lean down and kiss him. And of course, Stiles obliges because he doesn’t think he’ll ever pass up the chance to kiss Derek. It doesn’t take long before he remembers exactly what he’s holding in his left hand, and before he can even think about what he’s doing, he leans over and pokes Derek in the stomach with the end of the dildo, trying and failing to stifle the giggle that bubbles up at how ridiculous that looks.
“So what do you want to do with this?” Another poke to Derek’s stomach. “I mean I know what you’re supposed to do with it, but specifically, what do you want to do?”
“Want to watch you use it,” Derek mumbles, burying his face against Stiles’ shoulder.
“Watch me? Not you use it on me?” Stiles asks as he jiggles his shoulder until Derek looks up at him, all pink cheeks and a worried expression.
“We can do that instead if you want.”
“I like your idea,” Stiles says hurriedly, dropping the dildo down on the bed and stroking his hand through Derek’s hair.
“I thought –” Derek adds, leaning into Stiles touch, “– I thought maybe you could – fuck me while it’s, um, in you.”
That makes Stiles’ cock twitch in interest, because it hadn’t occurred to him that he could have both, have Derek riding him and a dildo in his ass at the same time. Because that’s the one thing he dislikes about being the one to top the majority of the time, is missing out on that amazingly full feeling he gets when Derek’s cock is buried deep inside him and he nods slowly in agreement, watching the way Derek’s shoulders start to sag slightly in relief.
“Come on then,” He adds, kicking the covers down to the bottom of the bed and spreading his legs wide. “Let’s get it on.”
Derek snorts at him but leans over to find their lube, watching Stiles warily as he waves the dildo around. “You’re going to have to hand that over eventually, you know.”
Stiles pouts up at him and passes it across, lifting his hips off the bed so Derek can tug down his underwear.
“Turn over,” Derek adds, grabbing at Stiles’ hip until he takes the hint and rolls onto his front. Which, OK, makes it much harder than he’d like to stroke his dick, but presumably Derek has some kind of plan. A plan which apparently involves pulling his ass cheeks apart and just sitting there staring down at him.
“Are you planning on doing something or are you just going to commune with it via telepathy?”
Derek slaps his ass cheek hard in response, making Stiles yelp and grind down against the bed, because fuck, that feels good. “I like looking at you,” Derek says after a moment, his hand sliding over the warmed skin.
“There’s looking,” Stiles tells him, lifting his foot off the bed so he can knock his heel against Derek’s back, “and then there’s just sitting there and staring at my asshole like a weirdo. Weirdo.”
That earns him another slap on the ass followed by a cold drizzle of lube over his hole, because Derek is actually a dick. Only before Stiles can tell him as such, there’s Derek’s thumb working gentle circles around his rim and so he just sighs happily into the pillow instead.
In reality, it probably takes Derek no time at all to work his way up to four fingers, but to Stiles, it feels like an age. He's vaguely aware that he's muttering into the pillow, begging Derek for more in a muffled, incoherent way.
"Hurry it up," he grumbles, turning his head to the side so he can look at Derek out of the corner of his eye. He just gets a smug little smile in response, turning away and moaning in anticipation when Derek moves the dildo and lets it rest against the back of his thigh.
"What's the magic word?" Derek asks, twisting his wrist slightly and making Stiles as the pads of his fingertips graze Stiles' prostrate.
"If you don't put it in my ass right now I'm breaking up with you?" Stiles suggests, his voice going breathy and wavering slightly. If Derek's going to keep fingering him like this, well, then he can't expect entirely coherent speech.
"Nope," Derek replies giving him a light slap on the ass with his free hand. "It's please."
"Please?" Stiles tries, grunting when he gets spanked again, a little harder this time.
"Don't think you mean it."
"Please?" Stiles murmurs again, pushing back greedily against Derek's fingers. "Please Derek. Fuck me with it. Please?"
Derek hums in satisfaction and gives his wrist one last twist before pulling out and tracing Stiles' rim with a fingertip and making him shiver. Stiles buries his head against his folded arms, his breathing ragged as he listens to the sound of Derek lubing up the dildo.
It sounds all kinds of obscene, but before he has a chance to dwell too much on that, the blunt head is nudging against his hole and Derek’s free hand is resting on his ass cheek, pinning him to the bed. If the noise of Derek slicking up the dildo had been obscene, Stiles has no words to describe the sound he makes as Derek starts to push it into him. The damn thing has ridges all the way down and it’s driving him crazy the way they first catch against his rim before rubbing over his prostate as Derek works the thing in further.
“Gimme a minute,” He exhales after a minute, reaching back and grabbing hold of Derek’s wrist. Derek does as he’s asked, and Stiles can feel the dildo shift slightly when Derek takes his hand off it, which just makes him moan into the pillow again. Yeah, OK, so the thing might be longer than Derek’s dick, but girth-wise, it’s not really all that much bigger, so he doesn’t really understand why it feels so damn different. Why he actually needs a minute to get used to the feeling of it. He turns his head again, catches sight of Derek slowly stroking his cock as he stares down at his ass; his cheeks and ears are flushed, and he’s sort of biting at his bottom lip as he just keeps on staring. It’s only when Derek finally catches his eye that Stiles nods for him to continue, his eyes fluttering shut in anticipation as he feels Derek grab hold of the dildo again and start to slowly pull it back a little before giving it a tiny quarter twist before pushing it back in.
“You look so good,” Derek says quietly as he starts to pull the dildo almost all the way out, the thick ridge around the head teasing Stiles’ rim before Derek starts to work it back in. Stiles bites down on the pillow in front of him, because holy fuck, that feels amazing. “You’re doing so good Stiles,” Derek continues, pulling Stiles’ ass cheeks apart again, his thumb stroking against his stretched rim. “I wish you could see how good you look right now.”
Stiles likes this, the way sex makes Derek more talkative because there’s something about the way his voice goes quieter and kind of scratchy that really does it for Stiles.
“What does it look like?” He asks, his words muffled because he’s still got his face shoved into the pillow.
“Like you shouldn’t be able to take it all,” Derek tells him, his fingernails digging into Stiles’ ass cheek. “But you are. Fuck, Stiles, you are.”
Stiles can feel his cheeks heating up at that, because it sounds like Derek’s even more into this than he is, which to be quite honest, Stiles didn’t even think was possible. Every time he tries to lift his hips off the bed though to fuck back against the dildo, Derek presses down on his ass, keeping him flat against the bed. On one hand, it’s fucking infuriating, but then, on the other, he loves it when Derek gets all bossy in bed.
After a couple of blissfully long minutes, Derek takes his hand off Stiles’ ass and tells him not to move. Stiles gives it all of fifteen seconds before bucking his hips off the bed. All that earns him though is another hard slap on the ass and the hand Derek has on the dildo going completely still.
“I told you not to move.”
“You’d have been weirded out if I hadn’t tried,” Stiles grumbles as he lets his legs flop open a little wider and grins into the pillow when he hears Derek moan softly in response. Over the sound of the slick slide of the dildo, he can hear the unmistakable sound of Derek stroking his cock.
“Come in me,” Stiles grits out, turning his head to look up at Derek when he hears his breathing growing rougher behind him. He tries for a grin when Derek’s hand immediately stops and he looks down at him, his eyes going wide.
“You heard. Come inside me.”
Derek nods in understanding, stroking his cock faster as he stares down at Stiles, somehow managing to maintain the slow, steady pace he’s got going on with the dildo that completely at odds to the way he’s jerking himself. If Stiles was feeling more coherent, he’d be annoyed by that, because he knows he would never be able to manage that, but he’s not, and the feeling of the dildo’s ridges dragging slowly across his prostate means coherent is about the last thing he can manage. And then suddenly, it’s all being taken away from him, and he’s vaguely aware that he’s making an embarrassingly high pitched keening noise as Derek pulls the dildo out before pushing into Stiles, all in one quick movement. One thrust is all it takes and then Derek’s coming with a loud grunt, going still as he fills Stiles up.
“Hey,” Stiles asks as he reaches backwards to awkwardly pet Derek’s hair. “I bet I could take your dick and that dildo at the same time.”
Derek whimpers at that, nipping at the back of Stiles’ neck. He lays there for a moment, a hot, heavy weight on Stiles’ back before shoving himself back onto his knees with a grunt and slowly working the dildo back into Stiles. Everything’s so much slicker now, so much wetter with Derek’s come, and Stiles doesn’t need any kind of supernaturally enhanced hearing to hear the sloppy, wet noises the dildo’s making as Derek fucks him with it.
He’s so hard now that he hurts, can feel the damp patch spreading beneath him where he’s leaking pre-come; but Derek’s still got one hand on his ass, keeping him flat on the bed and there’s no way he’s even getting a finger beneath himself to attend to his poor cock, never mind his whole hand, and it’s maddening.
“Lemme up,” He manages to gasp out after a few minutes. “You said you wanted to watch me use it on myself, not use it on me.” He feels Derek go still and then Derek’s grabbing hold of his hips, helping him up onto his knees; Stiles leans back against his chest for a moment before Derek’s moving away, leaving Stiles feeling cold and wobbling slightly. He can feel the dildo starting to slip out of his ass and spreads his legs a little wider and lowers himself towards the bedcovers so the stupid thing is pressed against the mattress and can’t slide out any further. After a moment, he leans forward a little, steadying himself with one hand on the bed, the other wrapping around the flared base of the dildo to hold it in place as he starts to lift himself up on his knees slightly before dropping back down, fucking himself on it as Derek watches.
“Stiles,” Derek murmurs behind him, his warm hand sliding up Stiles’ calf and resting there. “I want –” His voice trails off again, and Stiles stops moving so he can look over his shoulder at him.
“What do you want? Tell me.”
“Can I –” Derek’s gaze flicks towards his cell, resting innocently on the bedside table. “Can I take a photo?”
Stiles wastes absolutely no time whatsoever in agreeing, sighing happily when Derek drapes himself over his back, pressing kisses against the side of his neck as he leans over to grab his phone. His happy little sigh quickly gives way to a displeased grunt when he goes to reach for his dick only to have his hand very rudely slapped away by Derek.
“Want to see you come without touching yourself,” Derek whispers into his ear as he nips at his ear lobe. Stiles whimpers at that, because he’s only ever managed that once before and he just really wants to come right fucking now. Except there’s something very desperate in Derek’s voice, like he wouldn’t really stop Stiles if he wanted to grab hold of his dick and start jerking himself off like there’s no tomorrow, but that he really, really doesn’t want him to do that.
Which is how Stiles ends up fucking himself on an absurdly blue dildo, sweat beading on his forehead from exertion as Derek starts off taking pictures of him, before moving on to filming him. He probably should feel embarrassed by that, or awkward, or anything really besides more turned on than he can ever remember being. Behind him, Derek’s muttering words of encouragement, telling him over and over how good he looks as he rests his hand in the middle of Stiles’ back and pushes him a little further forward, so his ass is sticking out even more.
“Want to look at you,” Stiles manages to gasp out as he arches his back a little more, gets closer to the bed and rocks on the dildo instead of trying to bounce up and down on it, because fuck, his thighs are really starting to ache. Somehow, Derek winds up sat in front of him, his legs spread on either side of Stiles’ own as he leans back against the headboard.
“Please?” Stiles asks quietly, as Derek takes another damn picture of him.
“Need to touch myself,” Stiles tells him, coming to a complete stop as he tries to catch his breath. He’s so, so close to coming, can feel his orgasm building low in his belly and shooting shivers up his spine, but it’s not enough. He needs to get his hand on his cock. Or even better, to get Derek’s hand on his cock. “Please?”
“Try,” is all Derek says as he drops his phone down onto the bed and slides his hands up Stiles’ thighs before curling them around his hips. “You’re doing so good, I promise.”
Stiles straight up whimpers at that, but is too far gone to care that the noises he’s making might sound stupid; instead he stretches his arms out behind him, hands flat on the bed to take some of the strain of his legs. That just means his back his arched and his dick is jutting out even more obscenely, would probably be flopping around all over the place if he wasn’t so fucking hard right now. Seriously. His dick looks angry right now.
Something approaching a sob slips out from between his lips as he starts to rock on the dildo in earnest, his dick jerking as the dildo’s ridges nail his prostate on every pass. He’s vaguely aware of Derek moving forwards a little, resting his hands on his hips before moving to drag his fingernails down his fingernails down Stiles’ inner thighs while he murmurs words of encouragement and tells Stiles how good he’s doing.
That’s more sensation that Stiles’ wrecked brain knows what to do with and as he slams back against the dildo once more, he feels himself finally hit that point of no return.
“Der,” He mumbles, swallowing thickly because when did his mouth become so dry? “Der, ‘m coming. Gon’ come”
“Good,” Derek replies softly, one of his hands disappearing from Stiles’ thigh. “You’re doing so, so good Stiles. Come for me?” He digs his fingernails into Stiles’ thigh a little harder as he says that, and fuck, that’s not just fingernails Stiles can feel, but the faint prick of Derek’s claws and holy God, why had no one told him how good Derek’s claws feel pressed against his inner thigh?
And then he’s coming with a shout, sagging forward to rest his forehead against Derek’s shoulder as streaks of come land on his stomach. It’s probably the first orgasm he’s had that physically hurt from the intensity, and his dick is still dribbling weakly when he hears the familiar thump of Derek’s cell phone being dropped onto the bed before Derek gently wraps his now free hand around his cock and carefully strokes him through the aftershocks, his other hand working it’s way up into Stiles’ hair as he shushes the whimpery little sounds Stiles can hear himself making.
“Lean forward on me,” He instructs when Stiles finally begs him to leave his sensitive cock alone. Stiles does as he’s told, feeling too strung out and sex-dumb to do anything else, flopping forward onto Derek like a sleepy octopus. Derek presses a kiss against the side of his head, apparently unbothered by how grossly sweaty Stiles is right now. He yelps when he feels Derek’s hand wrap around the base of the dildo, still wedged firmly in his ass, and shakes his head against Derek’s shoulder.
“Shh,” Derek whispers into his ear. “Relax baby.” He carefully, so carefully and gently starts to pull the dildo out, pressing little fleeting kisses against Stiles’ neck and cheek, because Stiles’ ass apparently does not want to give the dildo up anytime soon, and it’s slow going, the ridges of the stupid thing making Stiles whimper and moan every time another one makes it free from his hole. Eventually it’s completely pulled free, and Stiles can feel his muscles clenching at the sudden emptiness as Derek helps him lie down on the bed, stroking his hair for a few seconds before hopping up and leaving Stiles alone.
Alone and slightly confused. He reaches back to gingerly touch his rim, tracing it’s puffy edge with a fingertip. It doesn’t feel quite as puffy and swollen as it has on the handful of occasions where Derek has knotted him, but it’s not far off.
“You OK?” Derek asks as he reappears beside the bed, sitting down next to Stiles’ hip and gently pulling his hand away from his ass before replacing it with a warm, wet washcloth, carefully wiping away the last of the lube and come from around Stiles’ hole.
“Tired,” Stiles mumbles into the pillow as he hears the washcloth hit the floor and feels Derek’s warm hands sliding up the back of his thighs, helping to let-up the tension that’s still thrumming through them.
He smiles happily as he rests his head on his folded arms, relaxing inch by inch as Derek keeps on stroking his hands over his skins, easing out the aches that have settled into his muscles.
“I bet I could though,” He murmurs as Derek grabs hold of his left foot and digs his thumbs into the arch. “Take your dick and the dildo at the same time.”
“Probably shouldn’t try tonight,” Derek replies with a soft laugh. “You look like you can’t even stand right now.”
“Bet you could even knot me with it in,” Stiles adds, grinning when he feels Derek’s hands still. “Not tonight though.”
Derek grunts in response, letting Stiles’ foot drop down against the bed before wrapping his hand around his hip and forcing him to turn over.
“Sit up,” He instructs, quickly moving up the bed to sit beside Stiles, letting him lean against his shoulder before handing him a glass of water. “Drink that.”
“Good. Drink it anyway.”
“Show me the pictures,” Stiles asks between sips, scowling down at where the faded ink on his thigh has been smeared into a light blue mess from a combination of sweat and Derek’s hand. Here and there, he can see little dots of red where Derek’s claws have just broken the skin and reaches out to touch them, only stopping when he catches the guilty look on Derek’s face. “I liked it,” He adds, nudging Derek in the side with his elbow. “Pictures.”
Derek hands over his phone, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ waist as they lie down and Stiles starts flicking through the pictures he’s taken. If he’s honest, it’s kind of weird, seeing pictures of his own asshole, even if it is kind of impressive seeing the way the dildo stretched him open.
“Why didn’t you tell me how hairy I am?” He grumbles as he swipes past a close up shot of the stupid blue dildo buried in his ass. “It’s gross.”
Derek just shushes him instead, and swipes through to the video he recorded of Stiles coming, and that’s actually pretty hot, even if he does have a weird come face.
“Maybe next time you should use your proper camera,” Stiles suggests through a yawn, handing Derek back his phone, turning his head to hide a smile when Derek makes a strangled whimpering noise at that suggestion. “Maybe I could use it on you instead.”
“Maybe,” Derek replies thickly.
“And maybe you could show me the site you got that one from,” Stiles continues, twisting around so he can look at Derek. “And we can see if they sell those double ended ones. Those look fun, right?”
Derek whimpers again and Stiles takes pity on him, pulling him into a lazy kiss. They kiss for a long time, lazy and innocent and all hands staying strictly above waists until Stiles starts to feel sleep dragging at his eyelids and has to pull away to stop himself from yawning into Derek’s mouth.
“Maybe we should,” Derek says quietly as he wriggles around and shuffles back until his back is flush with Stiles’ chest. “Get a double ended one, I mean.”
“Go to sleep,” Stiles tells him, dropping a kiss against his bare shoulder. “We can talk about sex toy shopping more in the morning.”
Derek hums in agreement and goes quiet, the way he’s twitching his toes against Stiles’ shin the only suggestion that he’s still awake.
“And Derek?” Stiles asks sleepily, nuzzling the tip of his nose against the soft hair at the nape of Derek’s neck while he waits for a response. “I love you and all, but you’re still not forgiven for eating my shrimps.”